Family Friend
by sirscreen
Summary: Kate was a homicide detective. But a Black ops group deep within the Gov. has decided to use her as bait to draw out an assassin. to protect their bait, they assigned an old family friend to protect her. a friend she believed dead
1. Disclaimer

I do not own Castle. For those of you who enjoy Trev, you can get more of him in _Christine Seeley Keenan. _Thats a Bones Fanfic.


	2. Briefing

Jon "Trev" Trevodur, now known as Jon Trevinski, sat in his chair. If you looked at him, you would see a bored man with a nondescript face, tall and muscular, but not overly so. A man who could just as easily pass for a business man as he would a laborer.

If you saw him, you would think he was slouching. But to the trained eye, his position spoke volumes. His arm, supporting his head lazily, was at an exact 45 degree angle. His legs bent at an exact ninety degree angle. His head wasn't resting on his palm, only made to look it. Even at a slouch, his back was straight, and he seemed to posses the smooth stiffness of the disciplined, motivated, and above all _lethal,_ Marine he was. Even if it had been a long time since he had been on a drill pad.

Currently, the bored look on his face was a true expression of emotion. _Get on with it already, _he thought. Currently, the stiff in front of him was discussing the Rules of Engagement. Not that he hadn't heard it all before. Only one other person in the COVENANT Project had as much ease as _not _over killing on their missions. His name was Patriks, known as 07, The Eraser. Trev himself was codenamed 12, The Tracker.

It was only till he heard "Do not engage, under any pressure, unless forced to do so under the circumstances. Use only the -"

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Trev, "Who exactly do I kill?"

"If all goes as planned, no one."

huh?! "I am an _assassin._ Killing bad people is my _job_." he explained, "It gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside." It actually didn't. Not that he feels any remorse either.

"Psychopathic tendencies _aside,_" this guy must have a death wish. And a good point, "This mission is a protection mission."

"But I'm not a body guard!" he exclaimed. It was true. He wasn't. If it was an enforcer, or bounty hunter, or any other offensive role he would be raring to go. He was getting bored, getting cooped up in Base HOPE IN THE NIGHTMARE. He was considering escaping and breaking into Fort Knox again. Maybe this time he would wear clothes. But as a defensive role, where he had to wait for the fight . Ironic, he had played Defensive Lineman in High School.

"You are for this mission," Stiff snapped. He started to continue with his Rules on Engagement. Knowing he had to put up with this bureaucratic nonsense, Trev genuinely leaned back in his chair. With most people, they stiffened when nervous. Trev seemed to go into a more relaxed state.

When Stiff finally finished, he pulled of a picture of a early thirties women with hazel eyes and short brown hair. "She is-"

"Kate Beckett." Trev finished for him. He visibly gulped, "She is an old family friend."

"Then she will be glad to meet you."

"Huh?!" he exclaimed, "What do you mean, _meet me?!"_

He pulled up another image. This one a grainy silhouette, "This is an assassin known only as Bourne."

"You're kidding," Trev asked. He shook his head, "Damn Hollywood."

"He has killed for every major criminal and terrorist group."

"Maybe he is just acting like the fictional Bourne. The one from the book and not the movie," he clarified. Seeing the confused look on Stiffs face, Trev groaned, "Aww come on! Don't you read? Anyway, the Bourne in the books only took credit for others kills."

"Nope. We have confirmed intelligence from a variety of video cameras."

"And this is the best you can do?" he gestured at the grainy silhouette.

"Unfortunately yes. This man is _good_, he knows it and he flaunts it. But he has a line he won't cross. Like you."

"Aww shucks," Trev said satirically, "And what do you mean, _meet me?"_

Stiff sighed, "We are going to try and draw him out. We managed to leak his file to him. He sees you as a challenger. We are going to use you to draw him out, and The Eraser will capture him."

"You're gonna let _Patriks, _boozing, moon-shining, a hair close to an alcohol induced breakdown, bring him down, while the King of CQB is playin _bait?" _it wasn't playing bait he was angry about, or the fact that Patriks would bring Bourne down. And for the record, that title was _earned_.

"Yes." Stiff answered dryly.

"Uh-uh," Trev refuse, "Playing bait I can do. Guard duty I can do. Not for _her."_

Stiff said a simple "Hmm," he absently picked up a file, "I thought she was a family friend. I guess a psychopath like you wouldn't care about the fact that Bourne's next target... is _her._"

Trev blinked. In that one blink, he went from unwilling soldier to cold psychopath, "What?"

"The person that ordered the hit on her mother," he said, "is paying Bourne to kill her."

Trev's parent's had been killed when he was fifteen. He knew well the loss of a parent. He knew that she wouldn't stop until the man responsible was behind bars. This act might bring her the closure she wants.

"I want all the information we have on the man who killed Johanna Beckett by the time this is over. Enough to give him the needle even in New York." Bred in a small town and a Marine, Loyalty was one thing that kept Trev from descending into the darkness.


	3. Guardian Psychopath

**For those of you who aren't reading **_**Christine Seeley Keenan **_**(otherwise known as CSK) I LIKE REVIEWS! 1 REVIEW FROM 3 PEOPLE MEANS A NEW CHAPTER!**

** Trev**

Goddamn, doesn't this woman _leave?_ It's after midnight! I know for fact that she will be in before the crack of dawn. By now I'm beginning to wonder if she even has an apartment.

My position is secure, if juvenile. I'm hiding in a office supply closet. I had a fiber-optic camera under the door. Kate was diligently working on her computer. I understand staying up late working on paperwork. Even a operative like me gets stuck in the bureaucracy. But she had working on it since... six! More than four hours! Even New York doesn't assign that much paperwork!

Finally she gets up. She doesn't turn off her computer. Ah well, now or never.

I silently open the door and pad across the bullpen. I sneak a quick glance at her computer. Its not paperwork.

What the hell?! _Rick Castle?! She's been researching her partner for who-knows how long! _I have a sore back from being bent over for eight hours waiting for her to go home, all because she doesn't like to ask her partner questions? _Grrrr._

I hear a door open. I quickly move to hide behind a desk. Kate resumes her position at her desk. She sets something down. A cup of coffee.

Alright, screw this. I am cranky, hungry, and sore. There is no reason why I should be. Niceness flies out the window. I draw my gun and flip it. I pad across the bullpen and swing my gun. The grip collides with the back of her head with a slightly sickening _thonk! _She collapses on her desk.

Now for what I came for. You can tell a lot about people by how they keep their desk. Hers is neat and professional. No personal affects to speak of. No pictures, or nicknacks, or anything of the sort. The top drawers contain office supplies, a toothbrush and tooth pate, and a hairbrush. She seems to spend a lot of time at the office then. Case files in the bottom drawers. Under those case files I find a single Polaroid.

It is a picture of a sixteen year old Kate and her mother. I remember this. Dad had been a avid photographer. I had been inspired and had taken this shortly before he died. They looked happy. I missed Aunty Jo, as she insisted we call her. Kate and her had been very close. No wonder her desk was absent of personal effects. She probably kept her personal life very personal.

Just to annoy, I raise her chair. Pranking Kate had been a rare recreational activity I had occasionally indulged in before my parents died. Made me feel nostalgic.

I grinned. I drew a screwdriver and a bug camera. I wouldn't miss the outcome for all the fights in the world.

~*~

Let me just say this: I wouldn't leave a concussed woman to her own devices. Even one as strong as Kate. That's a recipe for a lot of bad things. So I dropped her off at Castle place.

Okay, maybe "dropped off" might stretch it a little. I leaned her still unconscious form against the door and banged on it. _Loudly_. Then I skedaddled out of there.

I watched the apartment from the corner. It was raining pretty hard. My PDA rang.

"Trev."

_"We got a slight problem." _Patriks.

"BAC over the limit again?" I always tease him about his drinking problem. Patriks was one of the best operators I know, and the closest things I have to a friend in the COVENANT Project.

_"Think I would be calling for a slight problem like that? This is New York. Cabs are coming out the ass here."_

"What's the problem?"

_"Our friend knows we're onto him."_

"No duh. That's the whole point of me playing body guard." For anyone else, I would have been fine. But if Kate learned I had faked my death... I would be forced to give up a very good hobby:_Breathing._

_"Yeah, but he's not taking the bait."_

"Huh?"

_"He's hired his own guys to kill her."_

"Boobs, half-boobs, or someone we should be worried about?"

_"Half-boobs."_

Hmm, this might save my hobby, "I can take them. You stay low. I take out the guys and you see if you can gauge his reaction."

_"This is probably a test, kid." _I have been an assassin for five years. I wasn't a newbie anymore. And there was a reason I was both the youngest Sergeant Major in Marine Corps history, and the youngest member of the COVENANT Project.

"If so, I'll pass with flying colors Old Man." I responded, "Just give their addresses."

_"Why do I feel like that you will make my drinking worse?"_

"Ouch, man. That hurts."

~*~

First things first: Tunes.

My PDA can hold over a thousand songs. Not that it was designed to. It was essentially a mini-computer. The storage space was designed to hold things like security videos, pictures of targets, and voice recording. So, it could hold music videos, pics, and Mp3s no problem.

After about ten minutes shifting through my selection, I finally decided on Hollywood Undead. There was a time when I would have chosen Bon Jovi, Billy Squier, or Blue Oyster Cult. Now I listened primarily to metal, rap, and country. I had always been a fan of country. Call it bred into my small-town genes.

As the angry notes _Undead _began to play, I rocked my head and drew my 45. cal SOCOM, silenced, of course. The door to the apartment was in front of me was cheap and worn. The apartment itself was probably under a hundred square feet. I probably could have pushed it open with my pinky. But that wouldn't have the grand effect I was looking for.

I kicked down the door. The two men inside didn't have time to react as I shot the first one in the head. His head snapped back as he crumpled, the back of his head blown to pieces.

The second one reached for the gun at his hip. I let him get to it and shot it out of his hands as he drew it. I kicked him in the ribs before he could react. He hit the wall with a resounding _thunk!_

He wasn't out though he charged at me. I grabbed his arm and kicked his knee. I swung him to the floor. I then put my knee on his elbow and yanked up. He screamed as his arm broke. A building like this, people don't care about tiny things like that. This is the Bronx, not Manhattan. I flipped him over and placed the suppressor of my Mk II in his mouth.

"Listen real good buddy," I used my scare-the-pants-off-Force-Recon-Vets voice, "I know you were hired to kill a women. Her name is Kate. Kate Beckett. Well, you're gonna tell your employer that she has a guardian psychopath. And this gaurdian psychopath will find him. And kill him."


	4. Jake Tanner

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while! I guess I was waiting for reviews and then school caught up... well, here's new chapter as apology.**

** Kate**

"I'm fine Castle!" that must have been the fifth time I said it.

"I open the door in the middle of the night and you... fall through it!" he exclaimed, "And the doctor said that you should take it easy four twenty-four hours!"

"I don't want to 'take it easy'!" I said, "I want the prick who did this strung up!"

"I'm telling," he said like a five year old.

"Who?" I challenged.

"Montegomery," his eyes glinted with mischief. Oh no.

"Castle, I'm warning you," I warned feebly.

"Hey Boss," shouted Esposito, "Murder on 9th and Lex!"

"Let's go Castle," I instructed before he could argue.

"I... but... we..." he groaned and boarded the elevator with me, "I'm telling Roy as _soon_ as we get back."

"I'm fine Castle," I was a little- _very little_- touched that he worried so much.

* * *

The body was in a fifth floor apartment. Very nice, a lot like the Castle loft. Big and roomy. Looked impressive even with the absence of furniture.

The body was just dumped. He sure as hell didn't die here. I'm no M.E., but I know my bullet wounds. He was definitely hit with a large caliber bullet execution style. Lack of splatter from the blown out hole in the back of his head only pooled blood. Something was written in the blood, however.

"Jake Tanner," I read.

"I'm sorry," he said, "But did you just say 'Jake Tanner'?" their was something in his voice. Concern? no. something like it though.

Fear.

"Yeah," I confirmed. I gave him my _what-aren't-you-telling-me_ look.

"Jake Tanner is one of the most feared hit men in North America," he explained, "He's got a huge body count. And he knows how to find people."

"What do you mean, he knows how to find people?" I asked.

"He found an underground Russian crime boss," he explained, "The man had been missing for _ten years_. The feds and his enemies were cooperating to find him and they turned up nothing. Jake Tanner, not only found him, but he killed him."

"So?" impressive to find the boss, but not so much to kill him.

"The man had _twenty _armed guards hiding in the streets," Castle explained, "Not only did Jake Tanner kill the boss, but _everyone of his armed guards!_ In the middle of a public street. Still, no one got a good look at his face."

"They find any fingerprints, blood, anything?" I asked. Castle shook his head, "Then how did they know Jake Tanner killed him?"

"They received a phone call from Tanner," he said, "He used details only the killer would know. Like how he found him."

"How did he find the Russian?"

"He tracked financials on all the former military and mercenaries in the area. He traced the money wired to a numbered account in Switzerland. Then, he checked their phone records and watched the phone that was being used to wire the money."

"The Russian had to show up to use the phone," it made sense. And I think I heard about that on the news a few years ago. It was called the Bloody Memphis Massacre.

"Hey Beckett!" called Ryan, "So, body was discovered by the real estate agent. She was showing off the place to some potential buyers-"

"And let me guess," interrupted Castle, "dropped the price 30%?"

"35%" corrected Ryan.

"Hey," greeted Esposito, "I checked the neighbors, never heard anything."

"That's cause he wasn't killed hear," said Lanie, making her presence known, "Oh my God," she gasped. She visibly gulped, "Jake Tanner?" she looked as if she might be ill.

"Are you okay, Lanie?" I asked. I had seen her take the most gruesome crime scenes in stride. And a simple name can do this to her?

"No girl, I'm not okay," she said, "That bastard has one of the most fearsome reputations I have ever had the displeasure of hearing! He killed so many people it rivals cancer!"

"Lanie, breathe," I instructed. My friend is one of the strongest people I know. To see her afraid like this scares me, "I don't care who he is, I will catch him. Alright?"

"No you won't girl," she said, "That bastard is a ghost. He evaded FBI, DEA, CIA, NSA, the whole alphabet! I'm sorry girl, but if they can't catch him, with all their resources, how can you?"

That stung a little. I didn't say it, but my friend's unshakeable confidence in me gave me strength, "Lanie, even the best make mistakes. And when he does, I'll find him."

* * *

"_Beckett!"_

Ah hell.

"Yes sir?" I asked innocently. Castle would pay for this.

"Why didn't you tell me we had a intruder last night?" he demanded.

"Well sir," quick think of _something,_ "He didn't really have to knock me out to knock me out. So whatever he wanted was on this floor," good thinking! "So, I naturally assumed that he was after case files. And if I told you, you would have CSU take the place apart," I sometimes amaze myself.

"Yeah, and ordinarily I would thank you for that," he said, "But that was before we had a murder by the most wanted man in the North America!"

He rubbed his temples, "The FBI just called. They are sending in Agent Shaw to help with the investigation. And now I can't let them in until we have done a full inventory of the precinct," he raised his voice and shouted _"Everybody out!"_

"Well that's great," complained Ryan, "How are we supposed to solve the case without a precinct?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Castle, "We can use my basement!"

"No Castle," I refused. His basement, really?

"No, you gotta see it!" he pleaded, "I have a interrogation room all set up!"

"An interrogation room?" it might be worth a visit just to see.

"Yeah, plus he's got beer," argued Ryan.

"And comfortable chairs," agreed Esposito.

"Okay fine," I agreed, "We'll see Castle's basement.

* * *

"Castle, I knew you were obssessed," I observed, "But this just broke any scale I can think of."

His basement is... you can't find a word to discribe it. It was warm and welcoming, like his loft. Unlike his loft, however, the walls were lined with file cabinets and closets. I opened one, and it was full of clay skulls, all showing different signs of trauma, all carefully labeled and neatly organized. A file cabinet had pictures of a dozen different places, from the Empire State building to a seedy apartment in the Bronx. Included were photo shopped bodies and witness interviews and forensic reports. All that were missing was a few guns and it would have been a precinct.

"Okay Castle," I said, "We'll use your basement."

**Again sorry for the delay. Next one is on the house.**


	5. Discussing the Assassin

**Hi all! Here's my free of charge chapter.**

** Castle**

"Okay, Castle, I knew you were obsessed, but this is ridiculous."

Agent Shaw walked around my basement. I grinned at her, "You have yet to see my interrogation room, Agent Shaw."

"I look forward to it."

I saw Kate roll her eyes, "So, Agent Shaw," she asked, "Have you built a profile on Jake Tanner? Just like you did on Scott Dunn?"

"As a matter of fact," she grinned, "I did. He smart. And unlike Dunn, he doesn't need verification. He won't bait us like Dunn did."

"Well that will make this harder," I observed, "The only reason we caught Dunn in the first place is because he underestimated us."

"Specifically you Castle," observed Kate.

"Please, detective," I said with false humility, "You only feed my ego."

"Yeah well, when your ego is big, you tend to stay out of my hair more" ouch.

"Well, besides being smart, he is also a chameleon," observed Agent Shaw, "He blends in. And in addition to his carefulness, he has a wide skill set. He has used everything from bombs to sniper rifles to stabbings. The only reason we know he exists is because he advertises."

"Advertises?" I asked.

"He calls the FBI and who ever is chasing him," she explained, "He will leave behind calling cards at his crime scenes."

"Like writing his name in the blood," I observed.

"And strangling someone with a engraved bandana," she threw down a file on the table in the middle of the room, "Carving his name onto a persons teeth," another file, "leaving a labeled shirt next to a murder weapon," another file, "an engraved knife used to gut someone," _another _file, "and my personal favorite, hanging them in such a way that their first initials spelled his name." a final file.

I looked through one of the files. The picture was a man I recognized, "Hey this guy is a arms dealer who disappeared three years ago. He was killed last year," shot by a sniper. They hadn't closed the case, so my information was minimal. Apparently, he had left a plain white t-shirt with _J. Tanner_ written in Sharpie on the collar next to his weapon.

"Yes, all people who have disappeared, all killed with no evidence to find him," Shaw observed, "Everything about him screams calculated risk. He advertizes, linking him to other assassinations."

"He's building a rapsheet," said Kate, "A resumé. He wants more jobs but doesn't want to be caught."

"And what's more, he doesn't wait for them to contact him," Shaw told us, "_He _contacts _them_. All his former 'employers' were contacted by him. He killed their enemies who disappeared. He was paid for _considering_ them, then for _choosing _them, and finally for _killing _them."

"He's paid in threes," I observed, "that way, he attracts more customers. It makes it easier to pay him."

"Who ever Jake Tanner is, I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley way," said Agent Shaw, "Anyway, he appears to be based in DC."

"Makes sense," I observed. The two woman threw me stares, "I mean, DC must have a boatload of assassins, right? It's chuck full of people with money and power and secrets. It's the Los Angeles of Assassins!"

Kate rolled her eyes, "Try not sound to impressed Castle."

"But something doesn't add up," I said, "You said he makes calculated risks, Agent Shaw?"

"Yes," she replied, "He always chooses the safest route to kill."

"Then why the Bloody Memphis Massacre?" I asked, "That is not a good risk. If it were me, I would have used a sniper rifle. That seems like the safest way to do it."

**Trev**

Okay, I will give Shaw and Castle this: they are _good_. Maybe as good as Booth.

By the way: I did the Bloody Memphis Massacre because of a bet. Which I _won_. Though in hind sight, seeing Patriks in a tutu wasn't really worth it. I still have those nightmares.

**Castle**

"Maybe he wanted to advertise more," suggested Kate, "Maybe it was his way of advertising his CQB skills."

"Makes sense," admitted Agent Shaw, "I'll talk to the Agent in charge of capturing him. See if I can get the tapes of the Massacre."

"You're not in charge of this?" asked Kate.

"Nope. To high above my pay grade," she said, "The Agent in charge is Special Agent Seeley Booth."

**Trev**

Oh crap.

**Castle**

"I think you should be put in charge Agent Shaw," I shmoozed, "I mean, how good can this Agent Booth be?"

"He has a 98% close rate," she said.

"98%?!" Kate exclaimed. I felt my jaw drop, "That's almost impossible!"

"And you should hear the condition of the bodies of the crimes he investigates," she shuddered, "horror stories. His partner seems to have more balls than half my team. He's got more."

"Back to the assassin," ordered Kate, "We can talk about horror stories and unbelievable close rates later,"

"Right," I returned to flipping through the files, "What was his earliest kill?"

"June 6, 2005, Chicago." she answered.

And then I saw Kate do something I never suspected. She seemed to stiffen a little, as if that day should mean something, "Kate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing Castle," she snapped.

"Kate..."

"It's a private matter, Castle," she snapped, "It has nothing to do-"

"I'll decide that, detective," interrupted Jordan, "What do you know?"

"It's..." she hesitated, "An old family friend was buried on June 5, 2005, in Arlington. I attended the funeral." she kept her face at a careful neutral. But it looked forced.

"Did this family friend have a name?"

"I'll just tell you that his mom was a friend of my mom and that he was awarded the Medal of Honor on that day."


	6. Talking about a Broken Man

**Kate, her apartment. 14 hours after start of case.**

I turned the coin in my hand. The Air Force symbol on it gleamed in the light of my lamp. I turned it over to the other side. The _Lone Star Summer Leadership School_ symbol, Texas colored like it's flag with _AFJROTC _written on the white part.

I don't know why I had been looking through Jon's stuff. My metal footlocker labeled _Jon Trevoodur _had survived the blast from my apartment. The book he gave me, a copy of _Storm Rising_, after Mom died was in there. If not for Jon's advice, I never would have discovered Castle's books. I never would have gotten over Mom's death as well as I have. If only Jon had read Castle's books. Then maybe he would have dealt as well as I have.

I gently placed the brass coin back into the footlocker. I drew out a medal. The Medal. Sam and Maggs had insisted that I have it. Maggs had kept his uniforms, BDU's to PT, in pristine shape. She kept all his gear. Little Jenny was learning all about her father's sacrifice. Sam got his gun and his knife, things he had kept with him at all times. The doctor said it was a symptom of his PTSD, that he never felt safe unless he was armed. To this day, Sam refused the standard Glock of the Baltimore PD for his brother's M92F.

For some reason, they felt me family enough to give me his medals. He sure had a lot of them. Six Silver Stars, Legion of Merit, four Bronze Stars, and more Purple Hearts than I wanted to count. And the big one. Or two. _Two _Medals of Honor, both awarded Posthumously. He had died the decorated Marine he was. But I chose not remember him as the Marine he was when he died. I liked to remember him as the carefree boy before his own parents died. The responsible man that grew out of that boy was nice as well. The broken and shell-shocked warrior he was after Afghanistan was not someone I would recognize him as.

I heard a knock on the door, "It's open," I shouted. The door opened a familiar voice asked, "Kate?"

"What do you want, Castle?" I asked. I wasn't in the mood for a 12 year old. And then I smelled something. Tomatoes?

"I brought you some lasagna," he said. I looked at him and saw he was holding a tupperware container. It was a little sweet.

"Thanks," I said, "But I already ate," big lie.

"Big lie," he stated, "I know you aren't used to leaving at a sensible hour, and we got no leads on the case, so I know you would need some comfort. You like your status quo even if it kills you."

"Thanks Castle," I didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, "You didn't need to bring food though. I could have ordered take-out."

"Oh-no," he warned, "You aren't going to ruin that sexy body of yours just to get a quick meal. That's what you have me for."

"Why do you care?" I asked.

"Maybe I like looking at a fine piece of art everyday," he replied. Then he shrugged, "Your my friend. And I know you have very unhealthy habits. I know you won't break those habits anytime soon, so I try to help when I can." he went over to the kitchen in my small studio apartment and started preheating the oven.

His eyes caught sight of Jon's medals, "Either you are a Numisma, some one who collects medals, or you know a few brave guys."

"One Marine," I corrected, "And he's dead."

"Same guy who was buried June 5, 2005? Sergeant Major Jon Trevodur, First Marine Force Recon Battalion, 4th Regiment, 2nd Company, A Platoon, 2nd Squad? Awarded the Medal of Honor _twice_ for two separate actions that occurred within thirty six hours of each other?"

"Wow Castle, I'm impressed," I admitted, "When you research something, you don't forget it." I sat down on my couch, "But Castle,"

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor."

"What is it?"

I stared at him deep in the eye, "Jon's _dead_. Let him stay that way."

He nodded, "One question though. It is kind of private though."

I sighed, "Of course it is. Shoot."

He stared at me a long time before answering, "How close were you?"

I gulped. I didn't really know how to answer this one. I thought about it.

"Let me tell you a story:

"It was two weeks after my mother died. I was a wreck. I didn't have any direction. Jon was on mandatory leave after a classified assignment. Mandatory was the only leave he ever took. He didn't spend time with his brother or sister. He found a hole somewhere and hid there. I heard he was in New York and tracked him to the old boxing gym. I found him hitting a punching bag.

"He hit the bag hard and fast. I saw why he was known as the CQB Master by his fellow Marines. He noticed me the second I walked in. I... cried in his arms. He wasn't the slightest bit prepared for that. He wouldn't have responded well even before he went to Afghanistan. He was broken, Castle. Whatever happened over there, on his first deployment, it broke him. But he still made an effort to comfort me. He gave me a book. _Storm Rising._

"He had been planning on reading it before he shipped out the first time. After he got out, however, he never even opened a fiction novel. He immersed himself in science and history. By the time he died, he had a Medical Degree and a PhD in Chemistry. It was the last time I saw him.

"Before he left however, he told me something. He told me '_No matter what, there is always some one to be strong for.'_ and I try to be strong. For the victims families. For Dad. But he also told me that I shouldn't let her death ruin my life. It should motivate it. He joined the Corps because his parents died when he was fifteen. He didn't even have his permit. His brother took care of him. He supported his brother and sister. He worked all through the year so Sam could go to college and get a degree and make something of himself. When he joined, every dime went to his brother and sister. It worked to. Both Sam and Maggs both have Masters in Crimonology. Sam works at Baltimore Pd as a homicide detective. Maggs at the Marshals on the Fugitive Task Force. Maggs also raises the daughter Jon never knew he had."

That was way more than I planned on telling him. But he listened. No smart alack remarks. No jibes, comments or inquiries. I looked at him funny, "What no comments?"

"No," he replied, "I can understand coming home broken. I would never insult the memory of a man who had given his life in the service of others."


	7. Learning about the daughter

**This chapter may seem irrelevant, but be patient. It holds a very important plot twist.**

** Trev**

Sometimes, my job sucks. Like now.

_WHAT DID SHE MEAN "DAUGHTER I NEVER KNEW I HAD"?!_

Okay, calm down. Kate said that she is being raised by Maggs. That means Albuquerque. A single phone call could solve this. I thought about who to call. Being dead, calling my sister wasn't really a option. And all those who did know, I really didn't want them anywhere near my daughter. I think I truly understand why Booth doesn't want me near Parker.

I finally picked an number of a women I could trust for something like this.

_"Hello?"_ a groggy female voice answered.

"Jules, it's Trev."

_"What do you want, psychopath?"_ she said in a harsh tone. The Linguistics and Technology expert on the extreme counter-terror GHOST team, Petty Officer 3rd Julia "Jules" Whitmore didn't like me. Nor did anyone on the team.

"I'm calling in that favor you owe me," I answered

_"I'll get Stikes," _she said.

"No!" I did not want the leader of Ghost Team 2 and my former squad leader, then-Gunny now-Captain Steven Stikes, "I just need you for this."

_"I am not helping you kill someone!"_

"Don't worry, no one will die," I assured her, "I just need you to covertly check up on someone, that's all."

_"Who?"_

"My sister, Margret Trevodur."

_"You have a sister?"_

"I wasn't hatched," i commented.

_"I know, we just thought you were a foster kid."_

"Stikes knows me better than that," I said.

_"And you know how he is with other's past," _she replied, _"Why do you need me check up on your sister?"_

"I learned from a very reliable source that she is raising my child," I answered.

Their was silence for a few minutes on the phone. Finally, she said _"Give me six hours."_

"Thanks, Jules."

Longest six hours of my life,

My PDA beeped. I quickly pulled up the email. The photos I saw where taken at a distance, but I didn't care. The smiling faces of a women and a little girl appeared.

The women had a kind of earthy beauty. She was tanned and her short brown hair was sun drenched, giving it a slight shine. Her bright green eyes shone in a still-shot of happiness. Her perfect white teeth were revealed in her smile.

But it was the little girl, not my sister, who drew my attention. She to had sun drenched brown hair. Her green eyes shone like Maggs'. But she was different. She had a small button nose, and a smile that seemed to outshine the sun. she hugged her aunt fiercely. Her heart shaped face shone with happiness found only in early childhood.

The two looked just like mother and daughter. But I knew her real mother. Alyssa Stenson. She and I didn't really know each-other. We had a few classes together and that was it. We didn't talk or know each-other at all. The only way she could have been conceived was Deck's grad party. Let this be a lesson to all those kids out there: Underage drinking is a _bitch_.

I couldn't really blame Alyssa for keeping my daughter away from me. I was shipped out a week later and when I came back I was a mess. I guess news of my PTSD had traveled to her and she decided to keep her away. I couldn't really blame her.

I found myself musing about the things I missed. First steps. First words. First day of school. Reading to her at night. Instilling in her a love for football. Taking her to the Norco Fair.

The things I will miss. First boyfriend(He's _very_ lucky). Driving lessons. Graduation. College visits. Grandkids.

Her smiling face brought memories of another. She was Stevie's age when he died. She had his smile. But she wouldn't be like Stevie. She would grow up and _live_. I would make sure of that. So long as there was breath in my body, I would protect her. No one would harm her. If I had to drown the entire city in blood to protect her, I would.

I searched the rest of the email. Jules was thorough. She included medical and transcripts. Jennifer Jon Trevodur. She was named after me. She was perfectly healthy. She even skipped a grade. I was so proud, though I had no right to be.

I would never meet her. If she ever knew the things I done, the things I do, she would see me as a monster. It was better she see her father as the decorated Marine. She wouldn't learn the ugly truths. She wouldn't learn the things I've done. The innocents I killed. She would never be a target for my legion of enemies. And if she did, I would come on them so hard and fast that they would never know what hit them.

Focus. Focus on the mission. Research would come later.

I couldn't wait to capture Bourne.

* * *

**Kate**

_Bzzt, Bzzt Bzzt._

I groggily answered my phone, "Beckett."

_"Hey boss, we got a hit from our picture released to the media,"_ answered Esposito

_"A landlord in the Bronx called in saying that our vic was one of his tenants. Uniforms were sent out to check on it. Found the apartment covered in blood," _finished Ryan.

"Tell Agent Shaw. Me and Castle will meet her there. You two get some sleep," I ordered.

_"Thanks boss."_

I hung up the phone and looked at my surroundings. I didn't remember going to bed. I was still in my clothes. I remember eating Castle's lasagna and looking through Jon's stuff for a few more hours. I guess I fell asleep and he carried me to bed. Even in my mind that sounded dirty.

I don't know why I looked through Jon's stuff. This case just rubbed me the wrong way. I guess I needed some of Jon's strength.

Castle. What happened to him? Did he go home afterward? Why did he carry me to bed?

Why did it smell like pancakes?

I opened the door and looked out into my apartment. Castle was in the kitchen making pancakes. Again. He hummed quietly to himself. He looked up and smiled, "Good morning, Detective."

I smiled just a little bit, "I just got off the phone with Esposito and Ryan. We found our crime scene."

"Well, I guess we have to eat these great pancakes on the road," he said sadly, "Ah well, I guess it was a good idea for me to bring a change of clothes."

"You brought a change of clothes?" I asked.

"Yep. After you went to sleep I swung by my place and grabbed something and came back," he grinned mischievously, "What would they think if I came in the same clothes as yesterday?"

"Good point," I agreed. Lanie was giving me enough crap as it is.

"Well, I have some packed in a Tupperware container," he announced, "Lets go!" he grabbed his jacket and ambled toward the door.

I was about to follow when something caught my eye. In Jon's still open footlocker was his _Summer Leadership School _(SLS) coin.

I grabbed it as an after thought.

**Again, there is a point to this chapter.**


	8. 32 kids

**Sorry about not updating in a while, I have been so focused on my first fanfic.**

** Trev**

"Blah, blah, blah," there is not enough blahs in the world to express what I'm feeling, "Leave the operations to the operatives."

_"You blatantly disobeyed orders!"_

"Tell me, where are you right now?"

_"Why?"_

"Because, _I'm _sitting in a stuffy van, watching a computer screen, with more video feeds than a Angeles game watching for a world-class hitman," I explained, "At any time, he could show up, and I would be out here in the line of fire, risking my life to capture an assassin that has the info we need to launch, and this is my estimate, nine major wars. So, were are you?"

_"I am conducting this operation from HOPE IN THE NIGHTMARE,"_ he said, _"From here, I can see the big picture, not just the three feet in front of your foxhole."_

"Exactly," I emphasized, "_You're _in a secret base in the Rockies built in the fifties to repel a Soviet invasion. _I'm _in a 'foxhole'. Well, guess what they don't teach you in private school."

_"What?"_

"It's always the guys in the front foxhole that know what Charlie is going to do." I hung up.

REMFs.

Well, looks like Kate and Castle are on the move. They just got into her car. Luckily, I placed a tracer on it the night I gave her a concussion. I would easily be able to follow it.

Ooh, looks like they found the apartment that I killed Romanov. I hadn't bothered to clean up the mess I made. It's not like the property value can get lower. And I hadn't touched anything with my skin, so I didn't need to wipe fingerprints.

Besides, _confuse your enemy with inconsistencies._ If they see you as a coward, they will be caught with their pants down when you charge. By adopting the alias of Jake Tanner, I had brought with it certain expectations. They will be confused, disoriented. It gives me time to find Bourne and capture him and not have to let Kate see me alive. Again, I like breathing.

A knock at the door of my van. I grabbed my gun and hesitantly opened the door.

"Coffee?" offered Patriks as he climbed in.

"Love some," ah, cream no sugar. The last time some one gave me sugar no cream, Patriks and Booth had to restrain me from killing the fool, "You do realize we aren't supposed to meet until Bourne is caught, right?"

"REMFs," was all he said.

"Good excuse," I admitted.

Patriks grimaced as he drank his straight black coffee. He looked old. He was only in his mid forties yet he looked fifty-five. His brown hair was streaked with silver, and his face was lined and haggard. His grimace was due to the fact that he hated coffee. His alcoholism was one of his defining features. When not on a mission, he got plastered every night, alone in a bar. He was the only one I knew who could do a high-wire performance with a BAC of .16.

"So," he began, "I heard you used to know this girl."

"I did," I admitted, "But her mother died, and she sure as hell changed."

"How?"

"Not really sure," I shrugged, "I wasn't there when she changed."

"Ah," he took a sip of his coffee.

"Can I ask you for advice?"

He stared at me in disbelief "Um, okay."

"You have an adoptive grand-daughter, right?" I asked.

"Yep," he confirmed.

"I just recently found out I have a daughter," I admitted.

He spit-taked his coffee. He looked at me with wide eyes, "A daughter?"

"Yep," I nodded, "Jenny, seven years old. Thinks I'm dead and is being raised by my sister.

"You have a sister?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes, "Why does everyone ask that?"

"I just thought you were a foster kid," he admitted.

"I'm gonna find the one who started that rumor and beat the shit out of them," literally, "What I want to know is, how do I stay away?"

"You don't," he admitted, "You check up on them. I do it with my granddaughter. She doesn't see me, but I sneak in the background and watch."

"You sound like a stalker," I observed.

"That's because being a parent, or grandfather, requires being a stalker," he said, "You love them, want the best for them. You try to keep the dangers of the world from getting to them."

"Huh" I sighed. Made sense, "Thanks, man."

"No problem," he watched the screen, "You ever read Castle's books?"

"Haven't read a fiction novel since al-Jihan," I admitted, "Same as listening to Blue Öyster Cult and Bon Jovi."

"Those guys are masters!" he objected, "When I was a kid, I would kill to get to their concerts."

"Exactly how many children did you father at Woodstock?" I asked.

"Very funny," he said, "Seventeen."

"_Seventeen?"_

"Plus another fifteen from my drunken binges."

I stared in shock. I can tell whether or not some one is lying by looking at their facial muscles. Patriks was as serious as a heart-attack. Let me rephrase my original thought: _Drunken binges are a bitch._


	9. Worth a Shot

**I know I'm updating infrequently, I just seem to be more focused on my other fanfic. Once that is done, I shall update regularly.**

** Shaw**

Something doesn't sit right.

Not Castle and Beckett arriving together. Or their new found closeness.

What bothers me is the fact that this isn't Tanner's style. All his previous hits were well thought out and planned. Careful and slow. This one, he seems to be moving to fast. Take this apartment for example. In all other home invasions, he wiped down every surface. We have _never _found a single print in one of his strikes. This apartment was covered in finger prints. Some would be from our vic, but some might be from Tanner himself. All he did to clean up was police his brass and bullets.

"Agent Shaw, just got a hit off of one of the prints," a tech alerted.

"Who?"

"Marcus Wright," he read off the PDA, "Former Ranger. Now wanted for murder in three states for mob hits."

"He's not Tanner," I said, "Tanner thinks to much of himself to do mob hits."

"Just got off the phone with Lanie," alerted Beckett, "She identified the victim as Sergei Romanov, a hitman for the Russian mafia. Former Spetsnaz."

"Two vics," started Castle, "Both hitman for criminal elements. Both with former special forces training. From my research of Jake Tanner it shows that he goes out of his way to avoid killing those he is not paid to."

"He's afraid to make mistakes," I theorized.

"And it helps with recruiting contacts," he continued, "If they aren't afraid that he is going to kill them at the drop of the hat, they are more likely to work with him. He uses date-rape drugs to destroy the memory those who cme into contact with him."

"And those who somehow remember his face give such a varying description that an APB is impossible," I said.

"He's like Dunn, a chameleon," Kate said.

"No, Dunn was good, but Tanner is the best," I informed her, "I personally chased him into a crowded street. In the space of a few seconds, he changed his clothes _and _his walk."

We were interrupted by my phone ringing, "Shaw."

_"It's Booth. I emailed you all the footage we have on the Massacre."_

"Thank you, sir."

_"Don't call me 'sir'. This case is being handed over to you."_

"Why?"

_"I've been put on mandatory leave and you are the second best profiler I know, and the only one that is a field agent."_

"Thank you."

_"No thanks necessary."_

"Whose the best?"

_"My therapist."_

I hung up the phone and turned to Castle and Beckett, "That was my former boss. He's handed the case over to me, and all the feeds we have from the Massacre."

"Congratulations," said Castle.

"Don't congratulate me until we catch this son of a bitch."

"Prick," corrected Beckett.

"What?"

"I just get more of a 'prick' vibe from this guy."

"Whether he is a prick or a SOB remains undecided. Right now we need to catch him. Put out an APB on wright. We may get lucky."

"Sure thing," Beckett got out her phone and turned to make the call.

"I'll go set up the basement so that it ready for us when we watch the feeds," offered Castle.

"Do it."

* * *

Sometimes, I think I came into the wrong profession. Castle had purchased a top-of-the-line plasma screen TV like it was a candy bar, and had it installed within the hour. Complete with a brand new surround sound and universal remote.

"Wait," said Castle, "Rewind a bit."

I complied, rewinding he video shot from some kid's cell phone. The image was blurry and choppy, but it was possible to see a blur take down two of the guards. The first one pulled a gun on him. Tanner seemed to grab his arm and knock it aside enough to avoid being hit. Then he twists the hand and somehow brings him to his chest, using the guard as a human shield. He then killed the other guard with his comrades gun.

Castle pulled up Youtube. He then selected a video of men in combat fatigues learning martial arts... and _the exact same move._

"While I was doing research on Kate's friend," he explained, "I found this. Apparently, he created his own version of MCMAP. Today it's called Trevodur MCMAP, and is taught at CQB School."

I looked at Beckett, "When were you going to tell us?"

"I honestly didn't know," she defended, "After Jon came back for the second time, I never saw him again."

"You said the first hit was June 6, 2005, right?" I nodded, "But CQB School didn't open until July 13, 2005."

"Tanner must be someone from Jon's unit," Beckett realized, "Someone who was there for a few months."

"He must have learned his fighting techniques," continued Castle.

"We find out that..."

"We find Tanner."

I shrugged, "Worth a shot."


	10. Interrogation

**Kate**

Castle was well, and truly, _obsessed._ His "interrogation room" was almost an exact replica of ours, except the walls were a deep black and a medium sized flat screen TV was mounted on the wall. Not only that, but the observation room had comfy chairs, a high-end coffee maker, and a popcorn machine.

Shaw had the pleasure of watching from the observation room.

"Mr Dano, where were you between the hours of 1am and 3am this night?" I asked. I flipped Jon's SLS coin.

"I was in my hotel room, sleeping," he answered, "Why?"

"Can any one corroborate that?" I asked.

"No, I was alone," he explained, "Am I being charged with something here?"

"You look in pretty good shape, Matt," Castle noted, "I bet you kept in shape from your time in the Force Recon, right?"

"Yeah, helps me pick up chicks," he replied cheekily.

"And some of their skills as-well?" Castle continued, "Running, marching, killing with your bare hands."

"Wait, what?" he asked, "You think I killed someone?"

"You served with Sergeant Major Jon Trevodur for six months, correct?" I questioned.

"Luckiest decision I ever made in my life," he mused, "Saved my bacon three times."

"He also taught you what eventually became known as 'Trevodur MCMAP'?"

"Yeah. Man was a genius," he said, "Every time he transfered, I went with him. Wasn't at all surprised he won the medal twice. May the bastard rest in peace."

I wanted to slap the son of a bitch. "Bastard" was he? My friend, the man who told me how to deal with my mother's murder, was a bastard? I saw Castle's eyes flick towards me. I kept my face a careful neutral.

I hit a button the remote lying on the table. The clip of Tanner fighting three guards played.

"That's Super MCslap," he commented.

"Super MCslap?"

"Yeah, it's one of the names we thought up for Trevodur MCMAP."

"Well, in 2008," I began, "A man used 'Super MCslap' to kill twenty-one people in Memphis. The man who claimed responsibility was Jake Tanner."

He gulped and started to sweat, "You think _I'm _Jake Tanner, the infamous assassin?"

"Well, lets see," Castle flipped open a folder, "You left the military on April 23, 2008. By the time you left, you had sniper training, basic knowledge of explosives, knife fighting, and '_Civilian Infiltration' _essentially a fancy name for changing your identity and blending in with a crowd. And thanks to the Good Sergeant Major, you also have advanced hand-to-hand combat skills."

"Everything you need to kill and get away with it," I challenged. He cringed away from me, "I have enough to send you to the feds and they will send you to Gitmo so fast it will make your head spin."

"Wait, _I'm not Jake Tanner!"_ he pleaded.

"Really?" I slammed photos on the table, "This man? His name is Sergei Romanov. Jake Tanner took credit for his murder. This is Marcus Wright. He's missing, and he worked with Romanov. And unless we find him, and he confirms that you didn't kill Romanov, you are going to be charged with terrorism."

We got up and left him speechless in the interrogation room.

**Alexis**

I grabbed my books and put them in my bag. Paige was waiting down stairs for our study session. She needed help in English Lit and I needed help in French. Just another Friday night.

I pushed the down button on the elevator and waited impatiently. I rocked back and forth on my heels in boredom. The elevators were always slow in this building.

Finally the elevator opened.

I screamed as I saw the sight within.

**Review PLEASE!**


	11. Elevator Shafts

**Well, you didn't review, but at least I know people are reading this. Just so you know, I NEED REVIEWS!**

** Trev**

Man, Kate sure did put the heat on Dano-man. I was impressed, she was almost as good interrogator as Booth. Almost.

My PDA beeped. Castle was receiving a call. By hacking their cell signals, I could listen in. it's five different kinds of illegal, but I _murder _people for a living.

_"Castle."_

_ "Dad! Body, DEAD BODY!"_

_ "Wait, Alexis what?"_

_ "In the elevator... get fast!"_

Dead body? Elevator? I quickly changed the feed to my PDA from the basement to the elevators.

Snow.

Aw crap.

I launched myself out pf the van. I turned left, rounded the corner, and went right into the middle of traffic to his building. A car came speeding up to my right. Reflexes born of days of training for dodging bullets kicked in. I jumped up and rolled onto the roof of the car. I landed, unhurt, on the the street and continued on.

I burst though the front entrance and kicked open the door to the stairwell. I raced up the steps.

Kate and Castle were beating me.

I snuck up, quiet as a ghosts whisper behind them. I sprung, and elbowed Kate in the face, where the jaw meets the skull. The delicate nerve endings their would put her out of commission for four minutes at most.

I kicked Castle's knee and slammed his face into the wall. He blacked out.

I took her weapon and continued on.

I kicked open the door to the his floor. A small, petite redhead, no older than sixteen, pressed her self into the wall, as far away from the elevator as she could. Her breathing was erratic and shallow. Cold sweat dotted her brow.

I pointed Kate's gun at her, "Hands in the air!"

She jumped and did as told. I maneuvered to see what was in the elevator.

Well, I found Wright. He was in the elevator, his throat slashed. From the blood spatter, he was killed there. On the wall, where the blood hit, _JASON BOURNE _was written. I checked the emergency escape hatch in the elevator. It was open.

I ht the _TEAM-LINK _icon on my PDA, "_He's in the elevator shafts!"_

_ "I'm on it."_

I looked at Alexis. I was running out of time. Kate could e hear any second. She was still recovering from her _first _concussion. I didn't want to send her into a coma.

"Cell out now!" I ordered. She did as told. Her eyes filled with fear and her breathing was getting shallower.

She was going into shock. Crap.

"Type in '_Jake Tanner' _now!"

I didn't think possible but her breathing got even more erratic. What kind of teenager pays that much attention to wanted assassins?

I let my instincts born of years of doing this type of work take over. I gestured up at th emergency hatch, "Get up there."

She hesitantly obeyed. But it took so long.

Kate's time limit was less than a minute now.

I quickly brought myself up as well. I took out my emergency Benzodiazepine needle. Benzodiazepine, commonly known as Diazepam or Valium, is m muscle relaxant used by snipers to shoot more accurately. It can also be used to treat alcohol withdrawal, seizures, and in this case, _anxiety._

In the blink of an eye, I thrust the needle into her neck. I don't usually do that in a fight. Mostly because the other guy is moving to much. But this is a little girl going into shock and my aim is excellent.

She begins to droop and fall. For someone of my size, weight, and maturity, that much Diazepam would only relax my muscles. For her, it was enough to put her out like a light for the next few hours.

I caught her before she could fall to the floor. Under neath me, I could her Kate call out,"_Alexis!" _ and then swore as she saw the phone I left on the floor. I gently and noiselessly shut the hatch.

I pulled out the flexi-cuffs I always carried nd cuffed the unconscious child's hands together. I loped her arms over my shoulders and began to climb up the elevator shaft.

Let me explain: I have been called Spider-man because I can climb near vertical surfaces. In the COVENANT Project, we all have special skills. I, for-instance, am a walking polygraph, and am the best infiltrator of the twelve best assassins. My "specialty" as it were, is tracking. They give me a target and all the info, and I track him down. Patriks can speak the most languages, I think it is like 27 languages fluently, and specializes in destroying bodies. He can take a five hundred pound man and turn him into an unidentifiable pile of bones. I don't know how he does it.

Any way, since tracking is my specialty and tracking often involves sneaking into some records room gaurded by an army and high tech security, climbing comes naturally. And the elevator shaft is a very easy climb for me.

When I am not carrying a one hundred and twenty unconscious teenager on my back. Then, climbing is a bitch.

Good thing was, a maintenance hatch to the roof was at the top. Elevators have those for maintenance crews to get in and out of the shaft. Thankfully, they only lock from the _outside._

I pushed it open and pulled us onto the roof. I started running to the next building.

I hate Hollywood. The only thing they got right was _We were Soldiers._ Awesome movie, by the way. They think that assassins prefer fast, flashy cars or dark SUVS. No. I am currently driving a green Suburban with tinted windows. I had the boys at the chop shop that I got it from clear out the back seats and mount computer monitors in their. It is the better disguise, because it is not a van, which attracts attention like a fireworks display.

I shoved the unconscious child in the back and started the SUV. We were headed towards the Bronx.

I was on the brige when my PDA beeped. I received a text from Patiks.

07

Aw, crap.


	12. We couldn't track it

**Trev**

_"Operator."_

"Bin, what's the status on tracing the one who put the hit out on Kate?"

_"I... kind of don't want to tell you."_

"What the hell does that mean?"

_"Um, I couldn't trace it."_

"WHAT?"

_"Hey, don't bite my head off. I said I couldn't trace it,"_

"What do you mean you couldn't it?"

_"Exactly that, I couldn't. The bastards put cash in a Swiss bank a few weeks ago and then transferred all the money to Bourne's account in the Cayman Islands._

"I thought you could track the serial numbers?"

_"These were __old__ francs. They were printed before the system was cmputerized._

"Damn French."

_"Actually, these were Swiss francs."_

"DO I SOUND LIKE I CARE!"

_"Don't kill the messenger! Sheesh._

"Sorry, Bin. It's just that shit has hit the fan hard."

_"I know. 07 sent out the distress signal, right?"_

"Yep. I'll call you back. And don't worry, I won't kill you the next time we talk."

_"You don't even know where I am."_

"Wipe that smug smile off you face. You are in your mom's basement in her suburban home in Louisville. 5336 Petunia Ave. right?"

_"..."_

"(Raspberry"

_"I'm very scarred right now."_

"They call me the tracker for a reason."

**I DEMAND REVIEWS. I WANT AT LEAST TWO REVIEWS FOR THIS. I KNOW YOU PEOPLE READ THIS. I CHECKED THE TRAFFIC! NO REVIEWS, NO CHAPTER!**


	13. Tanner is Trev

**Alexis**

_What the hell?... aw, my head... what is that?... is that music?... sounds like... Blue __Öyster Cult?... yes _Burnin for you_...why that, and why only the guitar part?..._

_ "I'm burnin, I'm burnin, I'm burnin for you."_

I hesitantly opened my eyes. The light in the room stung them and overwhelmed me. I blinked. The room became more focused.

The man I saw, the one who abducted me, was playing a electric guitar. His eyes were closed, and he seemed completely focused on his task. He sang softly to his music.

I flexed my and. It responded. I could move, even with a splitting headache. Quietly as I could, I got off the couch. And froze.

He hadn't noticed. What kind of kidnapper was this.

Jake Tanner.

The infamous assassin was going to make this mistake? He would pay for his folly.

I padded to the door of the studio apartment we were in. I was within five feet when he stopped playing and called, "Don't. I'll just catch you again."

crap.

He resumed playing, this time the _James Bond _theme song. He was good at least. I stayed frozen near the door.

He stopped again, "You want to get tranqed again?"

Without a word I stepped away from the door. I could feel my heart hammering, my brain processing everything at once. Memorizing every little detail. The grain of the wood of the door. The exact note of his playing. The exact tenor of his voice.

I placed myself in the farthest corner from him. It didn't matter. I could see a gun strapped to his thigh.

He stopped. Suddenly he smiled and began to play.

_Da dum dum dada dumdum dum dum dada dum dada dum dada dum dum._

The Top Gun theme song. One of my favorites. And judging by his face, it was his. And he played it well.

He finished, and looked happy, "Man, first time in _years _I've played a guitar, let alone that," he smiled at himself, "You liked it too, didn't you?"

I curled further into my corner.

He rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to hurt. Just hit a snag in the mission."

"Mission?"

"Jake Tanner is just an alias. I am not really a assassin-for-hire," he scoffed, "Really, I am! I mean, I am an assassin, but, ya know, James bond style," to emphasize the point he played a few bars of the spy's theme song, "Government stuff."

I stayed silent and away from him. He openly admitted to being a killer and he wants me to trust him? Is he crazy?

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that you think I'm crazy," his jaw dropped, "Sweet mother Molasses, you think that _exactly, _don't you?"

I slowly nodded my head. He looked shocked, "Okay, I'm good at reading emotions, but that is kind of spooky," yes it is, "But really, I'm not going to hurt you. Here," he pulled out a blue box from his pocket, "Got some Aleve for that head ache."

He shook the box. It was tempting, but resisted. In response, the throbbing in my head got more painful. I didn't want t be anywhere near him.

The door slammed open, and I jumped. Tanner did to, except his was augmented by drawing his gun.

A man stood in the doorway, clutching a hastily bandaged forearm. He glared at the gun in Tanner's hand. Tanner immediately reholsterd it. So their was two of them. Like Tanner, this one was average looking, bu he was much older than Tanner. He looked at least fifty, his face lined and haggard. His hair had large amounts of gray, and his eyes had a deep set look common with alcoholics. He looked at Tanner and said, "You play the guitar?"

Tanner shrugged, "Haven't played in years. But this assignment is bringing up my past anyway, so, what the hell?"

The old guy grunted, "Need some help with this," he showed Tanner his forearm, "And what the hell is _she _doing here?"

"I thought on my feet," he said.

"This is why I don't like working with you, you screw around to much."

"Ouch, Patriks. That hurts."

They bantered about, seeming to forget about me. The old guy, Patriks, sat down on the couch and grudgingly showed Tanner his forearm. Tanner carefully removed the bandages. He took one look at it and asked, "K-bar, right?"

"Yep. Bastard knew how to use it, too."

_"__Kak__ on __vas__udivljaet__?"_

_ "__Nozom__ X __na__lazvie.__"_

_ "DA?"_

_ "Ne nuzno kritnatc."_

_ "Zalb."_

_ "Eiote ougchoreitai."_

_ "Hijos de puta."_

Tanner now seemed pissed off at his companion. He got off the stool he sat on and went to the kitchen. He pulled out a red emergency medical pack. Patriks asked, _"Qui est-elle, de toute façon?"_

Yes, French! Even though I am bad in the subject, I could understand enough to realize he said, "Who is she?"

_"Castle's de la fille."_

_ Castle's daughter._

_ "Sais-tu seulement son nom?"_

Something about knowing my name.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" Tanner asked.

I hesitantly answered, "A-Alexis."

_"Poco Lexi."_

Crap. They turned to Spanish.

They continued like this, switching from language to language frequently. Only a few times did they use French. Finally they turned to English.

"What are we gonna do with her?"

_Do with me? "Please don't kill me!"_ I curled up tighter in a ball and my breathing turned shallow again.

"Great, now your sending her into shock!" Tanner scolded.

_"¡¿Me? tu el que secuestraron a ella! "_

"Lets not play the blame game or the 'who-abducted-who' game her," Tanner reasoned, "I have a plan. It is going to involve her. And don't worry, Little Lexi," he turned to me, "You won't be harmed."

_"¿Y cuál es ese plan?"_

Tanner started speaking in rapid Spanish. I heard him use the words "_Kate y Castle"._

_ "Piensa que puede herir Bourne antes de que llegue a ellos?" _Patiks asked.

_ "¿Es una prostituta de ochenta años de edad, fácil?"_

Patriks shuddered, _"Gracias, por esta bella imagen,"_ Even in the Spanish I could hear the Sarcasm.

"Your welcome."

They turned to me and began to study me. They regarded me with questioning eyes. I grew uncomfortable. Both from the fear and the stares.

Finally, Tanner asked, "How's Kate doing?"

"You... you know Detective Beckett?"

He grinned, "She didn't always used to be a detective. She used to be just Kate to me and my siblings. My mom and her mom used to be good friends."

"Huh?"

"That's right," he nodded, "My name isn't 'Jake Tanner'. It's Jon Trevodur. My... I wouldn't call them 'friends', more like 'colleagues who don't try to kill me on a regular basis' call me Trev. Like him," he gestured at Patriks.

"I try to kill him on an _irregular _basis," he grunted.

"I wish that were a joke," Trev admitted.

"You do the same to me," Patriks argued.

"He put sugar instead of cream in my coffee!" he argued.

"And you tried to kill the kid by stabbing him in the kidneys!"

"I don't 'try' with that kind of thing," Trev shot back, "I 'do' that kind of thing."

"I distinctly remember him living after the incident."

"_One _time!"

I asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Some kid put sugar instead of cream in his coffee and Trev here decided the boy needed to die," Patriks explained.

"He was so lucky Booth and Patriks were there."

"Are you crazy?" I asked. They did seem like they were not going to hurt me. In fact, they seemed like a couple of twin brothers arguing at the dinner table.

"A little bit," Trev admitted.

"It comes and goes," offered Patriks.

**The translated version of it, from top to bottom is:**

** TREV"How did he surprise you?"**

** PATRIKS"He used a blade with a X on it."**

** Trev "HUH?"**

** Patriks "No need to shout."**

** Trev "Sorry."**

** Patriks in Greek "You are Forgiven."**

** Trev then says something a parent would not want their child to repeat.**

** "Poco Lexi" is Spanish for "Little Lexi."**

** Patriks says in Spanish "Me? You are the one who abducted her!"**

** Patriks "What is the plan?"**

** "Kate y Castle" means "Kate and Castle."**

** Patriks "You think you can wound Bouren before he gets to them?"**

** Trev "Is a eighty year old prostitute easy?"**

** Patriks, "Thank you for that lovely image."**

**Thank you for the reviews! And it is not a low blow. I work hard on my fanfics. So I would like sort sort of payment. Think of it as a magazine subscription.**

** 2REVIEWS=NEW CHAPTER**


	14. Past Revealed

**Castle**

I before the yellow police tape. They wouldn't let me inside. I could see enough from the stairwell.

Wright was in the elevator, his throat slashed. The grisly message written in his blood began to darken, the blood drying. The Lanie preliminary findings were that he indeed died of a cut throat. She found a needle mark on his neck below the slash. She thinks that Wright was drugged and then killed in the elevator.

_Why? _The thought kept running through my head. _Why? _Bourne was another hired killer. Was Tanner and Bourne working together? Separately? Why would Bourne kill Wright? What was the connection?

_When shit hits the fan, all you have is what you know, not what you don't. _My element leader had told me that in Pararescue training. Staff Sergeant Taylor always knew how to find to the connections. So what do I know?

Tanner used a form of MCMAP. Shaw thinks that he may have a military background. So, he is probably an ex-Marine.

Tanner killed Romanov, and Bourne killed Wright.

Both victims were hit man for the mob.

Both were former military, and had special forces training.

They both were staying in the same apartment.

Romanov and Wright were both hitmen. They must have been working together to hit the same mark. Tanner and Bourne might have been working together to eliminate the competition.

No. Tanner and Bourne work alone. Tanner and Bourne were highly skilled, highly sought after. They were ruffly equals in sheer effectiveness. They killed high priced targets, targets that wouldn't go down easy. Bourne specialized in political and terrorist targets, while Tanner specialized in hard-to-find targets. Tanner was more unpredictable. Bourne more public.

It was a competition. To see who was the best. Bourne and Tanner were competitors in the ultimate free-market business. They were both proud, skilled killers and they did not want competition. The more effective one would literally kill off the other.

I saw Kate looking at Alexis's cell phone. She too looked deep in thought. Agent Shaw was directing the FBI techs around the scene. She had already questioned me and Beckett. Kate had a sore jaw and nothing else. I had a concussion. She didn't get a good look at Tanner and if I did, the concussion knocked the image out of my head.

"Hey, Castle," Kate said quietly, "How you holding up?"

"I'm trying to figure out the connection between Tanner and Bourne," I admitted.

"What do you have?" she knew I was doing this to keep myself sane.

"Tanner and Bourne are high profile killers. Why would they go after Romanov and Wright? Those guys are small fries compared to them."

"Maybe they are part of something larger?"

"If they were, their would be signs of torture."

"Lanie says that Wrights arm was broken recently. She'll probably find more injuries once she does the autopsy."

"I got thinking that Tanner is going after Bourne, or the other way around. They want to eliminate the other to get rid of competition."

"Sounds-"

Suddenly, Alexis's phone chirps. She received a text message.

_The girl is not harmed. She is sedated, and shall have a large head ache when she wakes up, but is otherwise unharmed._

_ If you want her back, Detective, you must be at the south end of the pond at 1600 hours. If not, I shall hold her for the rest of my operation._

_ You may bring Mr Castle with you, but only Mr Castle. And, as a token of my good faith, you may be armed with any sidearm of your choosing._

_ Only a Sidearm, mind you._

_ J. Tanner._

I looked at Kate, "Please," I begged.

"You don't have to beg, Castle," she assured, "Shaw."

The woman came over. Kate showed her the text. She looked at both of us, "If we can track him down before four, we won't have to meet him."

"What are the odds of us doing that?" I argued, "You said it yourself. This guy is better than Dunn. He won't give us a clue to his location. We should plan, prepare-"

"If I deviate from his instructions he might kill her," Shaw argued, "And I am not about to let a half cocked writer go into a hostage transfer with only one cop for backup. You can't plan with Tanner."

"Then I will go alone," Kate offered.

"No, Tanner is too dangerous," Shaw looked annoyed, "Neither of you have the training-"

"I spent a year in the Pararescue," I admitted, "That is special ops. I have more training in this type of thing than you do. And that is my daughter. I will save her if I have to beat the shit out of each and every one of you and go their myself," I glared at her, daring her to challenge me.

"_You _were in spec ops?" Kate asked in a unbelieving voice, "Doing what?"

"Pararescue is the special operations of the Air Force," Shaw said, "They are trained to find downed aircrews. Those guys are trained to hide well in case they are shot down behind enemy lines. If you were really a PJ, then you just might catch Tanner before he gets to you."

"Are you really believing that Castle is a former soldier?"

"Airman," I correct, "Soldiers are Army. Airmen are Air Force."

"Whatever."

"Bring me you service Jacket. If it checks out, I will be waiting at a fifty meter perimeter. And then you you get to catch an assassin."

**Castle Loft, Castle's Bedroom**

I threw the mattress off my bed. Hidden in the frame was a safe. I dialed in the combination and jerked it open.

Inside were the remains of Airman Richard Amster. I had taken the last name's of all of Mother's husbands every time she married. I probably had more identities than a spy. She was married to a man named Stanley Amster at the time I enlisted. I was selected for a psychological project called Project: PRODIGOUS WARRIOR because I had scored high on everything from physical fitness to intelligence. As of such, immediately after Basic I was rocketed to Pararescue training. All seemed to go well.

Until Bosnia.

After I got back, Honorable Medical Discharge, I turned to writing to stave off the PTSD. Derrick Storm was created. Alexis was born. I buried Amster and became Castle.

Now I needed to become Amster again. I pulled the jacket out of the safe. I handed it to Shaw. She flipped it open and review it's contents, "It's real. You're good to go, Castle."

I could feel the back of my neck prickling. I turned and saw Kate glaring at me with accusing eyes. Once Shaw left, she asked, "When were you going to tell me?"

"I tried to bury the past," I admitted, "Why would I bring that up?"

"Because you brought up my mom's death," she accused, "We are _partners._ We are supposed to share. You think it was easy for me to tell you about her?"

"Of course not," I said, "It was before Alexis was born."

"I don't care," she shook he head, "I am just _angry _that you didn't tell me."

"It's why I write the macabre," I whispered, "After I got back, writing staved off the nightmares. I started to improve. My personality changed. Alexis being born was the last nail in the coffin for Airman Rick Amster. I was probably just as broken as Jon when I came home."

Se was silent. I could feel her evaluating her perception of me, comparing everything I did and every Derrick Storm novel to my confession. She nodded, her face neutral.

She hugged me.

"Don't worry, Castle," she whispered into my ear, "We'll catch this prick."

**2 REVIEWS=1 NEW CHAPTER**


	15. Alexis Talks to Patriks

**Patriks**

Whatever the kid was going to do, it was going to be risky, stupid, and above all, violent. I give the kid credit, he is one hell of an operative. Smart, resourceful, deadly, and above all else, he knows how to deal with all the death and violence with our job. He deals better than I do.

But, at times, I hate the kid's guts. Like now. I feel like a damn chauffeur. He wasn't going to let Alexis anywhere near the field. So, he was having me drive her to her place, which was now empty of any and all people. It didn't hurt that he wanted me to cut their phonelines and set up a cell jammer before I release her. 1600 hours was only a few minutes away.

What made matters worse was the fact that we got stuck in rush hour traffic. I hate New York.

I silently fumed while Alexis played with her black skullcap. Her hair was noticeable through the window, and Castle sure as hell put out an APB on her. So I decided to play it safe and had her wear the cap.

"Hey, umm, why do you switch languages when talking to Trev?" she asked.

Well, I am stuck in traffic. Might as well talk to the kid, "Ever hear the story of Pacha and his three sons?"

She shook her head.

"Well, there was this big flood, and Pacha, his three sons, and their wives took shelter on a tall mountain. It was cold and miserable. So cold and miserable that the Pacha and his children did not speak to each other. When the flood finally receded, Pacha could no longer talk to his sons because they spoke different languages.

"So, you switch languages to stay in practice?"

"Yep," I nodded slightly, "It's not like riding a bike. If you don't use it, you lose it."

"Trev called me '_Poco Lexi_'. What does that mean?"

"Literall, it means 'Little Lexi'," I scowled, "He did it just to piss me off."

"How?" she looked confused.

"I used to want to be a foreign language teacher. So I am still real anal about proper grammar in foreign languages," I shrugged, "It _should _be '_Lexia Poca'_."

"Why?" she asks a lot of questions now that she is not afraid for her life. It reminded me of my granddaughter.

"'_Lexia' _is the Spanish form of 'Lexi'. And in Spanish, the subject comes before the adjective. You never took a Spanish class?" it was hard to believe. More kids take a Spanish class as a foreign language than any other class.

"Nope," she shook her head, "I only took German and French."

"Huh, then 'Little Lexi' in French and German is..."

"_'Petit Lexi' _and _'Klein Lexi'_" she answered proudly.

"Very good," I smiled. This brought back happy memories with Tempe.

"Thank you," she smiled, "How did you and Trev get into Black Ops?"

I shrugged. The agencies involved were classified, but I saw no harm in telling her about them, "After Trev faked his death, he was recruited into the Intelligence arm of the State Department, Consular Operations. He specifically worked with the Political Stabilization Unit's Tracker Team."

"Consular Operations? Political Stabilization Unit? Tracker Team?"

"Consular Operations does political espionage," I explained, "They spy on foreign governments and and conduct operations on them. They are very small compared to the CIA, and very unknown. It suits them better that way. The Political Stabilization Unit is the assassination arm of Cons Ops. 'Stab', as it's known, has a Tracker Team whose job it is to track down targets, namely enemy spies and ousted dictators building their power underground. Trev was the only field operative they ever fielded," I didn't tell her how Trev is a walking polygraph and has been trained by the legendary Harrison Ambler in the art of lie spotting.

"And you?"

"I was a SEAL sniper," I admitted, "I was recruited into Office of Naval Intelligence's Destruction and Disposal Unit. It was my job to find, kill, and dispose of saboteurs and spies that were well know or couldn't be charged for some reason."

"Did that happen often?"

"More often than you think," I said, "The D and D Unit had about seven members when I was recruited to the White House's dirty little secret."

"Dirty little secret? What's that?" she asked.

"If I told you it wouldn't be a secret," I smiled at her furious expression at having been denied information. She was a lot like Tempe, "The kid joined a few years ago. Youngest operative we ever had," I didn't tell her about the COVENANT Project. We were a group of the best assassins who specialized in specific types of jobs. Arsonry(09), Tracking(12), Disposal(07), making deaths look like accidents(11), and just plain old killing lots of people(01). Of the twelve of us, only Trev and me were the only ones with military backgrounds. The rest were a assortment of crooks, mercenaries, and in 01,the Murderer's case, plain old killers.

"Why do you call him a kid?" was she ever out of questions.

"There was a psychological research project called PRODIGOUS WARRIOR," I explained, "It took kids barely out of Basic and threw them into Special Forces. In Trev's case, he was thrown into Recon training after Boot Camp and then was rocketed into the Force Recon, the Special Ops of the Marine Corps. From what I understand, he became infamous for willingness and eagerness to fight and kill. Trev was acually one of the lucky ones. Most ended up dead, and all the rest ended up broken psychologically."

"It was that bad?" she asked.

"Worse," I shuddered, "A old and salty Sailor like me can take all the blood and gore of Special Forces in stride, mainly because I have seen it before. Trev and the others were green as grass. Probably never even seen a cadaver before. And all the horror of Special Forces just reared it's ugly head on a bunch of teenagers."

"Trev didn't seem broken," she observed.

I turned to her, "Has that detective taught you how to interrogate?"

She shook her head, "No, why?"

"Cause in interrogation, you are supposed to keep the other guy talking," I said.

"Maybe I am a natural born investigator."

"Maybe," she did have the instincts of one, "Trev recovered. To the point where he is not a homicidal maniac like others of the Project."

"Oh," she kept silence after that.

"So, what are you planing on doing after high school?" perfectly respectable question, right?

"I plan on going to Princeton or Oxford. I want to study Behavioral Psychology," she said.

"Why?"

"Dad says that there is always a story. A sequence of events that makes everything make sense," she shrugged, "Take Trev for example."

"What about Trev?"

"Well, Trev claims to know Kate from early childhood," I nodded. That much was right, "And he seemed to protective for this to be a simple mission to him. So I can assume he is extremely loyal."

"'No better friend, no worst enemy'," I repeated the age old mantra of the Corps.

"Semper Fi and all that," she said, "But it seems to go deeper than that. I think he suffered a traumatic experience in his childhood, most likely mid teens."

Wow. I knew Trev's parents and little brother died when he was fifteen. It took three years of prodding and getting to know him to learn that. She figured that out from just simple observation.

"You should be a profiler," I suggested, "You're good right no, without any training. Imagine what you will be with a doctorate."

"Thank you," she said smugly.

**For those of you who haven't read **_**The Ambler Warning **_**by Robert Ludlum, that is where I got Consular Operations and the Political Stabilization Unit from. The Tracker Team was my idea, though.**

** This time I want 3REVIEWS=1CHAPTER! BWAHAHAHA!**


	16. Ambush

**Trev**

I walked down the alley, only a few hundred yards from Central Park. A guy dressed in business casual stood by a van, smoking a pipe.

"Jeremy, that thing will kill you," I warned.

The Brit glared at me, "Not you too!" he exclaimed, "That's what my wife says!"

"Not the cancer," I reasoned, "How many arms dealers smoke pipes in back alleys?"

"Good point," he said.

"Got my stuff?"

"Yep," he opened the back of the van, revealing a wide assortment of weapons. He pulled one out, ".308 Semi auto with a 24x scope?"

"Nada," I shook my head, "Too big, and I need to fire my second shot fast and accurately."

"Huh," he placed the gun back and drew out another, "Marine Designated Marksman, with a 24x scope?"

"Still too big," I said, "Good idea, though."

"Hmm," he smiled. Jeremy and I go back to my first mission. I never take a government issued weapon. For one thing, that is a paper trail that can be traced. For another, this provides me with contacts and a degree of , I think it could be _Legitimacy, _in the underworld, "How about this?"

I looked at the gun. It was a Squad Advanced Marksman Rifle(SAM-R). It is currently used alongside the Marine Designated Marksman Rifle, but where as the MDM-R was based off the M14, the SAM-R was based off the M16. This one was modified with a folding stock and a woodland camo paint. It had a 30-round STANAG magazine and a 50x adjustable thermal scope. Better, it had a _suppressor__,_ my favorite accessory. It was perfect.

Jeremy grinned at my obvious approval, "$2,000 for it and the requisite ammo. I'll throw in a free 20 round mag and it's ammo because I like you."

"Thanks, amigo."

* * *

I remembered what Booth said about Shaw. She's smart and resourceful. Nothing proves that better than the FBI perimeter that she set up.

Floodlights surrounded the perimeter, few areas in shadow. FBI guys were all along the perimeter. There were holes, but going through those would put you right in the floodlights, where they would tackle you too the ground like a cartoon football team.

Fortunately, I didn't have to sneak by them. On two sides of the "meeting ground" was woodland, the other side had a few sparse trees and that was it. The most open place was the pond side, but Shaw had that place covered too. She new I had sniper training. She was smart.

I put on my FBI windbreaker. Spend my weekends making these type of things. FBI, DEA, NCIS, CID, CIA, OSI, ONI, the whole alphabet. But bastards like Patriks and the rest like to "borrow" them. And do they appreciate all the work I put into these? NO.

I hid my SAM-R in a chrome case, the kind the FBI uses to transport equipment. With my slacks, leather shoes, briefcase, windbreaker, and forlorn look of never getting promoted, I looked exactly like your nameless, faceless FBI tech.

They had pulled back from the edge of the pond. They apparently didn't want to "spook" Tanner. Smart. And fits my purposes exactly.

One of them stopped me, "Hey buddy, where are you going?"

I lifted my case, "Shaw wants me to set up hidden cameras. If Tanner gets away, at least we will have a good picture of him for an APB."

"Makes sense," he shrugged, "Go on through."

I did. Good thing they didn't look at their watches. 1600 was fast approaching. I hoped Patriks was in position. I climbed a tree, which I had hung a camo bag with a set of spare clothes in the branches. Using years of experience, I quickly changed into woodland hunting camo. I brought out my SAM-R, fixed the stock, aimed and waited.

With the thermal scope, I could see through the dense woodland on either side of meeting area. Kate and Castle were two orange, green, red, and white.

_One...two...three_. I saw three colder human bodies hidden among the bush around the area. Patriks was already in position. I knew Bourne had hired some cannon fodder to throw us off. Luckily, I saw another, warmer body crouched in the bushes. Problem was, with this scope and in his position, I couldn't tell what was his head and what was his leg.

I cursed under my breath and waited for him to make his move.

**Kate**

I could feel a presence. Like someone if watching me.

Castle had his gun out, his eyes alert. If I didn't think that Castle had been a Spec Ops guy before, I did now. The way he held himself, the way he seemed to use all of his sense, sight, hearing, smell, feel, to look for Tanner scared me. It was like he wasn't even human anymore. The fact that Alexis being in danger brought this out of him made me feel sorry for any poor bastards that would think to harm her.

I tried to do my part. But from what I could tell, nothing was disturbed. Castle had always been the ones who noticed the small, insignificant details. Now I knew where it came from. It explained a lot. Castle's good eye for small things, his accuracy on the range, his basic knowledge of self-defense. Even the way he handled the gun during the Scott Dunn case.

I felt the air grow tense. I looked at Castle wondering if he felt it too.

I heard something. A whisper, the sound of brush moving. I wheeled around. I saw a man running toward me, gun aimed. I tried to raise my own, _too slow..._

His arms jerked right and the gun flew out of his hands. He jumped back, and scrambled back to the brush. I had my gun to bear. I didn't think I shot at his legs.

Castle' and my own shots were wide. The foreground became riddled with bullets. He scrambled behind a tree.

I saw Castle become a blur as he raced after him.

"_Castle!" _

**Castle**

This bastard would not get away. He came after everything I loved. Alexis. Kate. He would not harm another person.

I dove into the bush, and wheeled right. He became a blur as he drew a knife.

Nice try. Knife fighting was Amster's specialty.

I grabbed his wrist and twisted. I heard a satisfying _pop! _and yanked the knife out of his hands. I jerked him to the right and laid the knife at his throat.

In the span of 3.8 seconds, I went from Richard Amster to Roger 6, someone I swore never to be again.

And then I noticed the knife. An X was carved on the blade.

My old knife.

_"Castle!" _I looked up and saw Kate, "Don't do this Castle," she pleaded.

"No worries, Detective," I said quietly, "He knows where Alexis is."

**Kate**

_"No worries, Detective. He knows where Alexis is."_

These simple words. They weren't Castle's. They were cold and hard and emotionless. It was the voice of a killer.

"Castle," I warned.

"Book him, Detective," it sounded strained, as if he were struggling against something.

He FBI team burst onto the scene. Agent Shaw beheld the scene with a mixture of surprise and respect, "Good work, Castle," she congratulated, "Not everyday you can beat someone as good as Tanner."

I heard a cell phone beep. Shaw pulled out hers and swore.

"What is it?" Castle asked, now more controlled, more like his normal self.

She showed us. Another Text.

_Meet Jason Bourne. You're welcome, Detective._

"It's not Tanner?" Castle sounded furious and defeated at the same time.

"Apparently not-"

Her cell phone beeped again. Another text.

_PS: Alexis is back at your loft, Mr Castle._

Castle became a blur as he raced to the car.

**So, what do you think? If you don't review, no new chapter.**


	17. Bourne goes to Patriks

**Trev**

Well, time to skedaddle.

I dropped from the tree. A good friend of mine would say I did it ninja style, utterly soundless. But those guys in pajamas ain't got nothing on me.

Unfortunately(for them) Shaw's boys had heard the shots and had apparently decided to check it out. Well, this would at least be entertaining.

Positions: three of them. Two were to my left, about two yards away. The third was to my right, a practically shoulder to shoulder.

Contrary to popular belief, in fighting multiple foes, you don't fight them all at once. That only works in movies. You manipulate them so that you only fight them one at a time. Which is what I did.

I leaped to the first guy on the left. He attempted to draw his gun, but I was to fast. I grabbed a fistful of his windbreaker and pivoted. I tossed him into the guy on the right.

His buddy had managed to get his Sig out. What you never do is grab the gun. That is just stupid, Obi-Wan. I placed my palm on the end of the barrel and jabbed with my elbow into his solar plexus. That action took less than a second and loosened his grip on his gun. I wrapped my fingers around the barrel and yanked it out of his hands.

I pivoted around and pistol whipped the guy I threw. Before he could drop I grabbed him and charged at his buddy. Buddy's training at the Academy in Quantico had never prepared him for this. To his credit he tried to push his unconscious comrade away. He grabbed his buddy's windbreaker to do so. Not smart, man. I shoved the unconscious guy to my right and left hooked him in his exposed left face. I hit my favorite junction on skull and jaw. A four-minute hit.

I whipped around and charged at the still bent over Gun-less man. A judo chop to the back of the neck, where the skull meets the spine, sent him to lala land. I did the same thing to the still stunned guy.

I took off running. I admit not the smartest thing with Central Park crawling with feds, and me carrying a M16 look-alike. I kept to the brush, staying hidden. My hunter-style woodland camo served me well. I became invisible in the brush.

I leaped into the water, in a collection of cat-tails. I kneel-ed till the water was up to to my neck. I kept my rifle above the water. I made it to the middle of the patch and looked through the scope. The Thermal scope allowed me to see through the plants. Force Recon's main job was to provide with real time intelligence on enemy positions. I was doing what I did in the Marines. Getting Intel.

**Patriks**

Well, looks like the kid's plan worked. Bourne was unwounded though. I guess he shot the gun out of his hands. And he says that he isn't a good shot.

I leaned against Shaw's car, wishing for a cig. I smoked all throughout high school but quite once I joined the SEALs. Running and smoking don't go well together. I used drinking to fill the void. I opted instead for chewing the ass off a toothpick. It wasn't the same.

I went over my cover story again. I was-and this is definitely worth trying to kill the kid latter- Special Agent Patrick Patriks, Office of Naval Intelligence. I had the blue windbreaker with white lettering and badge to go with it. Just reinforces my belief that Trev needs to get out more.

"May I help you?" a not-so-friendly-but -I-can't-really-complain voice asked.

I grunted and stood up straight. A small redheaded woman at about mid forties stood in front of me, Bourne hand-cuffed in front of her, "Special Agent Patriks, ONI," I flashed my badge.

"Agent Shaw, FBI," she flashed hers.

I pulled out a piece of paper, "Jason Bourne is to go into our custody."

"To hell he is," she defied and snapped the paper away. I never questioned Trev's contacts. He had more dirt on judges than any sane man should. So, getting a court order to release custody of a terrorist to ONI was very easy to him. This plan might actually work.

At least until she grew suspicious, "We just apprehended him a few _seconds _ago. How did you know we had him?"

Damn. No answer but the usual, "That's classified."

"I would honestly like to go with her," Bourne said.

"To bad," I grinned evilly at him. He blanched. Good. He already knew the surprises the REMFs in HOPE IN THE NIGHTMARE had in store for him.

Shaw looked _pissed._ I think that she didn't like being overpowered, being FBI and all. It had always been fun to watch the power struggles while I was in the D and D Unit in ONI. Crap. I'm beginning to sound like Trev.

"Shaw, what's going on?" a tall brunette asked. Kate Beckett.

"ONI is here," she seethed, "They want custody of Bourne."

"Well, doesn't really matter, right?"

"I don't like ONI," she admitted, "The pricks in there don't really share. A few murderers got away because they didn't want to reveal 'classified' information."

True. Look at what really happened in the Kennedy assassination.

And no I didn't kill my cousin. I killed his killer. Thank you, I will be here all week. Tip your waitresses.

"Don't hold the Kennedy assassination against me," I protested, "That was just business."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, that's classified?"

"Hmm," Beckett's eyes narrowed. Guess she wasn't persuaded.

"I got the order. Give me the bastard," I demanded. Sooner I got out of here, the better.

They seemed to battle internally, debating following their orders and their obvious mistrust for me. They are cops, so they rely on their mistrust to get the job done. That said, they are also taught to follow orders to the letter. It was entertaining at least.

"Fine," Shaw said grudgingly. She handed me Bourne.

Good. Now, the final question.

Where did Trev park the car?

**Trev**

I saw through the thermal scope Patriks leading Bourne away. He would take him to the rendezvous point and have the retrieval team pick him up. Mission over.

I didn't have to let Kate see me. I could just disappear. I could continue with my existence, doing as I do best. But... something held me back.

Castle.

If something happened to Jenny, I would feel as he did. The very thought of it was painful. I didn't want to think about how he felt.

And Alexis would talk. Kate would be wondering. Castle would be curious. Loose ends.

I have to do it.

**Remember 3REVIEWS=1NEW CHAPTER.**


	18. Car Talk

**Kate**

I was furious. We were so close to finding Tanner and the only link we had was taken from us from a Agent of ONI. I'm not even sure what ONI stands for.

"What does ONI even _mean?_" I demanded as we entered Shaw's SUV.

"Office of Naval Intelligence," she answered, "It doesn't really play nice. It makes the CIA look like gracious house guests."

"No kidding," I scowled, "We were so _freakin _close!"

"I know," Shaw shared my scowl, "Look on the bright side: ONI isn't known for playing nice with it's prisoners. Bourne will talk."

"So what happens now?"

"I go to DC, explain this to my superiors. They won't be happy. FBI made the arrest, but ONI has the man. So they get all the intel on all the terrorists he worked for."

"PR."

"Yep. It's a PR problem."

We were silent for a couple of moments. We were both angry at Agent Patriks for taking our suspect from us. I think it hurt Shaw the most. _She _was supposed to be the one who took suspects away.

"So what about that friend of yours? Trevodur."

I sighed. For some reason, this case brought up the memories I had tried to keep hidden. I guess since Castle brought up his past like that, I should too, "Jon's mom was friends with my mom. My mom died a few years after his. Jon had a brother, Sam, and a younger sister, Margret. His parents and younger brother Stevie were murdered when he was fifteen. I was the same age as Jon. He changed after that. He used to be a prankster, and then became responsible. He helped support his brother so that he could go to college. He joined the Marines for the free education and hazardous duty pay."

I saw him when he graduated Boot Camp

_It was hot and humid. I was uncomfortable in my light summer clothes. Jon, sorry, Private Trevodur must be sweltering in his Service Uniform. But he showed no reaction to it. He stayed still as a statue, his face betraying no emotion or discomfort._

_ After the ceremony, the new Marines were mingling with families. Squadmates met the mother and father and sisters and brothers. What surprised me was the amount of flirting these boys did. After twelve weeks, turns out their first need is to reacquaint with the opposite sex. At least until Jon, "Put his foot down". No one wanted to mess with him._

_ "Congrats, man," Sam said as he hugged his younger brother._

_ "Maggs, what are you doing? Wearing Air Force on a Marine Base?" Jon scolded gently his younger sister in her AFJROTC Class A Blues._

_ "Shut up," she said with a smile._

_ "Hey, Jon, this your sister?" one of the Squadmates asked, pointing at me._

_ "Family Friend," he answered._

_ "Really?" he smiled, "Private Bill Marks. Nice to meet you," he shook my hand._

_ "Who is like a sister for me," he said in a dangerous voice._

_ Marks backed up noticeably. Jon smiled evilly. I punched him in the arm, "He was cute!"_

"He went to Afghanistan,"

_"Hey, man, take care of yourself," Sam gave him a bro hug goodbye._

_ "I will," he assured._

_ "Don't come back with some Afghan disease," warned his sister as she hugged him._

_ "I won't," he promised._

_ "Take care Jon," Mom hugged him as well._

_ "And bring me back a souvenir," I asked as I hugged him too._

_ "I'll bring back an AK, how does that sound?" he joked._

"And when he came back, he wasn't the same."

_Man, it was cold. March Air Reserve Base didn't normally transport Marines, especially ones returning from Afghanistan. Why Jon chose that instead of a civilian flight was beyond me._

_ I saw the C-130 land. I saw the ramp come down. I saw someone come out._

_ It wasn't the Jon I knew. This ones eyes were dead and cold. An emotionless clone of the upbeat boy I knew._

"Jon only came back because they had given him two Silver Stars and for that, the city of Norco, his home town, wanted to host a celebration. He stayed just long enough to get his award and then went right back into combat."

"I've seen it," Shaw said, "Soldiers who get PTSD sometimes develop an obsession to fighting. The violence, the pain, the death, it brings them a sort of perverted inner peace. They call it home. They also develop phobias and fears of harmless objects related in some way to what happened to them."

"That's probably why he is afraid of potatoes," I chuckled a bit.

"What?" she smiled.

"When he came back, he was afraid of potatoes," I laughed a bit.

"What could possibly cause him to be afraid of potatoes?"

"I don't know. We just served baked potatoes when he came back and he flew off his rocker," I couldn't help but laugh.

"A rough and tough Marine, afraid of potatoes," she chuckled with me. He phone began to ring, "Hello?... What?... When?... Search the Park. No stone is left unturned. Be careful this guy is dangerous."

"What's going on?"

"Tanner was at the park. He knocked out an entire team, and three corpses were discovered." she said.

"What the hell?" who was this guy?

"He was hiding out on the other bank of the pond. He was waiting for Bourne, and we don't know who those corpses are and what they are doing there, she growled.

"Bourne, his gun was shot out of his hand!" I realized, "Ugh how can I be so stupid!"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why shoot the gun? Why not just kill Bourne?"

"I don't know."

"Exactly," she hit the steering wheel, "We don't know! Too many things don't add up!"

Even during the Dunn case, she never raised her voice. I remembered that she had been working the Tanner case for a long time, possibly for years. She had been working a case and had gotten _nothing, _and the bastard was still killing, taunting her. With this case, all her patience was used up. Tanner was still out there, and her only lead was taken by a freakin ONI lackey.

"What is his game?" I asked. She looked at me curiously, "I read the file. Tanner is careful. Every time he operates, he strikes without warning or sticks to the shadow. He goes to great lengths to stay hidden. Why warn us?"

She stayed quiet. She looked deep in thought, racking her profiler brain, "Maybe he has broken. He has become nothing but a serial killer, and being paid is the way he choses his victims."

"No, it doesn't fit," I shook my head, "Serial killers _always _have an MO. Tanner is random."

"No arguments," she agreed, "Tanner... what's up with him? We aren't any closer to catching him, but he is _changing_, taking risks. The old Tanner wouldn't do that."

"Copycat?"

"Maybe," she parked the car in front of Castle's building.

We had barely made it into the lobby before Alexis enveloped me in a bear hug. I "umph"ed with the impact of the teenager.

"Detective Beckett!" she cried, "You're okay!"

"I...can't..._breathe..._"

"Oh! Sorry," she let go of me, "So, did you catch Bourne?"

"What? I... yes but... how did you know?"

"Tanner told me," she said.

"Wait," interrupted Shaw, "_Jake Tanner _told you his plan."

"Yeah, but his quote 'name' unquote is Trev," she said.

"Trev?" what kind of name is that?

"Yeah, he said that he was an old friend of yours."

I turned to Shaw, eyes wide, "I-"

"Trev. Trevodur," she said, "It's him. It has to be him."

"What? No, Jon is dead!" I exclaimed.

"The basement, now," she ordered, "Get your father, tell him-"

"He should already be down their," Alexis interrupted.

Shaw raced toward the basement door. I hurried after.

I see her burst open the door and stop dead in her tracks. She drew her gun, and it flew from her hands. I heard a loud _pfft! _and Castle exclaiming "_woah!"._

I drew mine and dove to the right. My gun flew out of my hands as if someone hit it with a sledge hammer. I froze. No one should be able to make a shot like that. I turned my head to see the shooter.

A familiar face smiled, "Hi, Kate."

**You want the rest of the scene? Well:**

** 3REVIEWS=1NEW CHAPTER**


	19. She died angry at me

**Trev**

I dropped the clip and ejected the round, "Now we can talk like civilized people," I announced.

Kate stared at me in surprise and pain, "You're supposed to be _dead,"_ she said.

I motioned her into the room. I drew out four objects from my backpack. They looked like those lights people place under cabinets with the sticky stuff under them. I placed on on each of the four walls. I hit an icon on my PDA. The things started too hum a little bit, just barely audible. These things were designed to vibrate the walls vary minutely, and emitted a jamming signal. They turned any room into a sound-proof Faraday cage.

I motioned her in, "If you want, I can explain everything," I offered.

She slowly went into the room, looking as if she couldn't believe what was happening. I didn't blame her. I closed the door behind me. With the jammers in place, no one could hear us.

Shaw regarded me warily, "So, you're the famous Jake Tanner," it wasn't a question.

"Jake Tanner is just an alias," I said, "Someone I created to squeeze some money from the enemies of my hits."

"Hits?"

"Fine, 'assignments'. Damn political correctness even invaded Black Ops," I muttered.

"What use would political correctness be in Black Ops?" Castle asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Same with the sexual harassment seminars I had to take."

"Black Ops?" Shaw asked. I guess Kate is still in shock.

"Yep," I confirmed, "I'm one of the best."

"How?" Kate whispered, "Why?"

"I'll start wherever you want me too," I said.

"The beginning," she fixed me with a piercing stare, "Your 'death',"

I sighed, "I was selected into PRODIGOUS WARRIOR, remember?" she nodded, "I was selected to go into the deepest tiers of the Project. The Black Ops. I was put into the State Departments Consular Operations. There, I was placed on the Tracker Team of the Political Stabilization Unit. I faked my death so that I could become untraceable."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" I said, "I was different then. I _needed _the violence. I still _need _the violence. I can just control it better."

"That... is complete _bullshit,_" I winced. Kate didn't curse unless she was _really _pissed off, "You think _you _needed a way out? _My mother-_"

"I know what happened to your mom, Kate," I interrupted, "Shit happens. You dealt with it better than I did."

"What?" she shouted, "What 'shit' happened for you to abandon your _family? What happened in Afghanistan?"_

I gulped. I knew she would breech this topic, "Remember Lieutenant Williams?"

"What?" she looked confused.

"Ya know... big, Georgian accent?"

"Your first CO?"

"Exactly," I took a deep breath, "Williams was my father figure in uniform. He recognized my knack for close up work, and helped me lay the foundations of Trevodur MCMAP."

"Yeah, I met him once," she said, "He's the one who wrote your recommendation to Recon School."

"We, ah, it was our first day on patrol, three days after we came to Afghanistan..."

_Al-Jahan, Northern Provinces, Afghanistan._

_ "Hey, Billy, turn that crap off," I asked._

_ "That's Lance Corporal Billy to you, Private," the Marine replied, "And everyone loves Hollywood Undead."_

_ "I can stand Hollywood Undead," I replied. The group was often played while the Cougars weight lifted, "I can't live with freakin Lil' Wayne, however."_

_ "This ain't-" I showed him the CD case. He swallowed his words, "Shut up, Private."_

_ "Private First Class," I corrected. My Letter of Completion from Colonel in my high school's JROTC program had earned me accelerated promotion. And I was damn proud of that._

_ "Both ya'll shut up," El-tee commanded, "We're almost to the village."_

_ Welcome to al-Jahan. Population: 53 people. Maybe 52, depending on if an old guy hangs around till tomorrow or kicks it tonight. We were well away from Taliban or other insurgent groups. This was just a dry run, get the platoon used to doing this kind of thing, since most of us were newbies fresh out of Recon School. It was a milk run, a drill at most. Come in, talk to the elders, give out candy-bars to a few starving kids, leave, repeat until it becomes ingrained like a fire drill._

_ The driver parked the Humvee a few hundred yards away from the village. The five of us, El-tee, Billy, Mark, Jacob, and me got out of the vehicle. I was the newbie in the squad, and saw the others automatically lace their hands on the grips of their rifles and scan the surrounding hillsides. This village was deep in the mountains. Only the Northern Alliance had kept Taliban and insurgents from reaching this village._

_ Though the sun beat down on us, it didn't warm us. We were well above sea level. It would snow here if it had precipitation. The people here eked a living off of the cold, hard ground using wells and irrigation. It think a single calculator was used by the whole village. And that is how technological these people are. The buildings were made of mud and straw._

_ The entire platoon, all ten Humvees carrying some fifty something Marines parked outside the village. The village itself was composed of a few dozen residential and a single government building, all composed of mud brick. They surrounded a sort of bazaar type area where they sold food and other goods to passing travelers, their main source of income._

_ We wandered into the bazaar, a good two thirds of our platoon. I saw the Lieutenant tlking to the village chief. I wandered around, keeping close to the middle of the bazaar. I scanned the stalls and shops, always curious, always alert for new things. Maybe I could get Kate a piece of Afghan jewelry? They should have some trinkets here..._

_ I saw a guy struggling to lift a basket of potatoes. The vegetables rolled around in the basket. I caught sight of something green. Military green..._

_ "AYE E DE-"_

_ Hell exploded around us. I was swatted aside like a ragdoll. My backpack saved me from blacking out, absorbing my impact. The world was silent, save for a ringing n my ears. I looked around, my vision sluggish. I saw bits and pieces of dead bodies everywhere. To my right I saw..._

_ I saw El-tee's head, separated from his body, his lifeless eyes staring back at me._

_ One sound cleared my hearing. The rattle of an AK. My vision began to tinge red. Rage swept through me. Bloodlust..._

_ Kill..._

_ Fight..._

_ Revenge..._

_ Murder..._

_ Death..._

_ PAIN! PAIN ONTO THE ONES WHO DID THIS!_

I swallowed, the memories fresh as day. The only thing I couldn't remember was sating my bloodlust. I learned that Al-Queda had struck at us with one hundred insurgents. They wanted to steal our Humvees to use as road bombs. I killed close to fifty of them that day. I was awarded the silver star for saving to lives of over twenty Marines.

"So, that was Afghanistan," I said, "A hell-hole right from the start."

"I have a question," asked Agent Shaw, "You displayed signs of PTSD..."

"Insomnia, depression, hallucinations, but it wasn't enough to hamper my performance," I said, "I think you're asking why I don't show signs now."

"Exactly."

"Seeley Booth," I said, "After I was recruited into Stab, they needed me trained in sniping. Booth was a former Ranger sniper, one of the best. They called him the 'Mile-Shot Master'. He was asked to train me, and agreed. He personally knew what I was going through, and helped me out of it."

"How?"

"He prayed and played Journey" I said, "They are like almonds: you can hate them, but they are so _addicting. _What, have you ever ad just _one _almond?"

"Journey?" Kate looked incredulous.

_"She was just a small town girl..." _I stopped when Kate sent a death-glare to me.

"What about Bourne?" Shaw asked.

"Bourne worked with almost every major criminal and terrorist group in the world," I said, "He knows names, crimes, account numbers, meeting places..."

"The ONI guy?"

"Patriks? He was assigned to take down Bourne."

"Then why are you here?" Kate asked.

"I was _supposed_ to be your bodygaurd," I explained, "But the again, I like my private parts."

"Good call," Castle smiled.

"Sounds like a police thing," Shaw said, irritation evident in her voice.

"Sounds like something Booth would say," I countered.

"So Booth knew all along-"

"Nah," I shook my head, "Booth is a devout Roman Catholic," I explained, "Unlike me, he has a moral compass. A strong one. He prefers not to hear of my exploits. Speaking of which," I turned to Castle, "If a character like me _ever _appears in one of your books, I will find you and beat the crap out of you."

"But-" he shut up at the resulting glare from me.

"_Ever,_" I emphasized, "But you can use the techniques I told you about."

"What techniques?" Kate asked.

"Ya know... wear layers, makes it easy to change your appearance, use draw string backpacks, small, easily transported and concealed. Avoid fedoras, even though they are completely awesome, that sort of thing."

"Spy techniques," he clarified enthusiastically.

"I don't spy. I kill," I corrected, "But they can be used in spying."

I could almost hear a _snap _coming from Kate, "Kill? You _murder."_

"No duh," I replied.

"Not only that, but _you take pride in it!"_

"Guilty."

"_You arrogant, self-centered, manipulative BASTARD!"_

"_I am self-centered, am I? Have you looked in the mirror, Kate? I read your reports, I know how much you bitch about Castle! Why you take the weird cases, you like the attention!"_

"Umm, I'm just going to step out for a minute," Castle said nervously.

"Me too," Shaw and Castle hastily exited.

"_You have a daughter! Have you ever thought of that? Or have you been too busy killing people to care?"_

I snapped. Blood pounded my head. I charged and slammed her against the wall, holding her six inches from the floor, "_YOU DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT? I DO! I MISS EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING IN HER LIFE BECAUSE I HAVE A JOB! A JOB PROTECTING PEOPLE JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO! AND WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY? 'HI KIDDO, YOUR DADDY'S A KILLER'? IS THAT WHAT YOU WAN ME TO SAY? EVERYTHING Kate, EVERYTHING! EVERY STEP, WORD, EVERY FUCKING MILESTONE IN HER LIFE I WILL MISS BECAUSE I PRTOECT THE PEOPLE I LOVE! SO DON'T YOU DARE, EVER DARE THINK THAT I DON'T CARE!"_

I panted through clenched teeth. Kate's fright filled face began to blur as tears worked their way through, "She died angry at me, Kate. Angry at me..._"_

_ Seven years ago, Norco, California..._

_ Knock knock._

_ A small girl opened the door. She had raven black hair and a heart shaped face with a small button nose, "Oh, um, hi, Jon."_

_ "Hi, Alyssa," I greeted nervously, "How are you?"_

_ "If Dad sees you he's gonna shoot you," she warned._

_ "Where is he?" Alyssa's mom had discovered the two of us passed out, naked and drunk on their living room carpet. By the time I managed to get out with all my clothes,her dad was awake and scrambling for his shotgun. I was just lucky it took him a few tries to get the gun safe to open._

_ "Work," she replied, "Your safe for now."_

_ "I umm, I was wondering if you want to talk. Ya know, about last night," contrary to popular belief, some Californians don't use the word "dude" in every sentence. At least, not in this watered-down South town transplanted to the middle of the California Desert. The town smelled like horse crap, had horse rap everywhere, even the water _tasted_ like horse crap. _

_ "Um, not right now," she replied._

_ "Has to be know," I said._

_ "Why?"_

_ "I get deployed to Afghanistan tomorrow."_

_ "_What?"

_"Calm down! You're not the-"_

_ "Was that all I was to you? A pre-deployment screw?"_

_ "What? No!"_

_ "Then what?"_

_ "A mistake!" I shouted back, angry, "I barely know you! I don't screw those I don't know!"_

"Get out!" _she slammed the door in my face._

_ 13 months latter..._

_ I punched the bag, my knuckles bleeding. I revealed in the pain, driving away images of Billy, the El-tee, Jacob. I heard the door open. I sparred just enough time to check who it was._

_ Alyssa smiled nervously, leaning on the doorframe. I went back to punching the bag. She asked, "I would like to talk, now."_

_ "You had your chance last year," I reminded her, in no mood to deal with her again._

_ "You're-"_

_ "Things change," I interrupted, "Get out."_

_ "You- I only wanted to talk!"_

_ "About what?" I stopped punching the bag, "What is so important?" I demanded, "I'm not going to be here, day after tomorrow. I ship out again."_

_ "How can they do that, you-"_

_ "I requested it," I went back to punching the bag, her angry face becoming another to drown out in the pain._

I dropped Kate to the ground and and slammed the door behind me.

**Remember, 3REVIEWS=1CHAPTER**


	20. Trev gives Alexis a gift

Alexis hugged her father. Trev had explained his actions as being instinct and the need to save the mission. Castle wasn't necessarily okay with it, but was just happy to have his little girl back. They were having a loving reunion.

Until Alexis stomach emitted a growl that would scare a Grizzly senseless, "Hungry?" Castle asked.

Alexis nodded, "I haven't had anything to eat since this morning. Did you go shopping for food?"

"Um, I was too worried?" he smiled uneasily.

Alexis rolled her eyes, "And the reason you didn't do it _before _I was kidnapped?"

"Um... casework?"

"Nice try. Go, I'm starving here," she commanded.

"Yes daughter," he complied, "Don't leave the lobby!"

Alexis watched as her father hailed a cab and got in. As soon as the cab drove off, Alexis became filled with a restless energy. The kind where you just can't sit still. She paced the lobby, drawing an annoyed glance from the doorman. Finally she couldn't take it anymore and walked out into the street.

The cool November air hit her like a brick wall. She wrapped herself as tightly as she could, desperately trying to get warm. She walked down the block, always keeping her building in sight. She turned around and started walking back again.

Something hard and smelling like cheap booze knocked her into a side ally. Four guys dressed in baggy clothes and smelling of alcohol surrounded her. But these men had flashing white teeth, evidence of enough money to live comfortably. These guys were posers.

"Hey, pretty lady" one of them leered, "Why don't we show you a good time?"

"No thanks," Alexis squeaked.

"Aw, don't be like that," one of them drawled, his voice slurred from booze.

"I have to go," she ran toward the entrance of the alleyway, only to be pushed back by two of the posers. One of them grabbed her from behind, fondling her breast. She screamed and slapped him. He cursed at her and threw her into the arms of the other two. He backhanded her across the face. He smiled evilly. Alexis closed her eyes and prayed. She heard a _thunk_ and the posers releasing her.

She cracked one open and saw one of the posers face down on the ground. The others had their backs turned, still between her and freedom.

Trev stood at the entrance to the alley, tossing a rock up and down in his hand. He said one word dangerously, "Leave."

Those guys must be very brave or very stupid. One of them shouted, "Who do-"

He was silenced when Trev tossed the heavy object and nailed him in the head. The poser dropped like a... well, rock. Trev flicked open a pocket knife, "I'm outta rocks," he warned.

They got the message. The scrambled away, deeper into the alley. As far away from the psycho as they could. Trev turned to Alexis, "I thought New Yorkers were supposed to know how to take care of themselves."

"They surprised me and had me out numbered," she explained.

"Don't you even have a knife?" he asked. She shook her head. Trev stared down at the pocket knife in his hand, lost in thought. He clicked it closed, "Take mine."

She tentatively accepted the weapon. It was black plastic, with a three-and-a-half inch long blade. Part of the blade was serrated. It was one of those flip and click ones, with a locking mechanism in place when you flipped it open. A belt clip was mounted on the side.

And it was worn. The plastic was slightly smooth and the screws on the clip were slightly rusted, but the blade was sharp and serviceable. Alexis didn't want to think about how many lives were ended by this knife.

"Um, thank you?" it sounded more like a question than she intended.

"Don't lose it," he warned, "My parents gave me that when I was younger than you," he motioned for her to follow, "Kate was actually the one who convinced my dad to buy it for me."

"She did?"

"Yep," I chuckled a bit, "Kate's changed a _lot _since we were kids. She used to be the laziest slob I ever knew. God help you if interrupted her nap."

Alexis chuckled, "Naps?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "She used to sleep _all the time_. I think she could have given a hibernating bear a run for his money."

"That doesn't sound like Detective Beckett," Alexis said, "I don't think she even _needs _sleep."

"Death of a parent changes us all," Trev remarked.

"Your parents died?"

"Worse than Beckett's," he said, his face now a mask of neutralness, "Mine were found in our _home, _their throats slashed. Never caught the bastards that did it. We were fifteen."

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized.

Trev shrugged, "Don't be. People shouldn't apologize for deaths they didn't cause."

Alexis stammered, "Ugh, how... how many people did you kill with-"

"None," he replied, "That was my service knife. I cut things like wires and rope for that. Not throats."

"Oh," Alexis examined the knife. Though it looked old and worn, it was also in very good condition. The blade was polished and rust-free, the mechanism oiled and smooth. He obviously took good care of this knife, "Why do you fight?" she asked, knowing it was a deeply personal question.

"I fight because it's what I am good at," he said evenly, "I fight because I'm the only one that can."

"Not a good reason," she observed.

"Fighting and killing are easy," he countered, "Living and loving is hard," he motioned toward the door to her apartment building, signaling that the conversation was at an end, "Take care, Alexis," he walked away. Alexis never saw him again.


	21. We got a Problem

**And here it is, the final chapter.**

Castle thanked the cabbie and stepped out into the dusk air of Manhattan. City that never sleeps it was. The sidewalks were just as crowded as when he left before.

Castle was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He wanted nothing more than to eat some cereal and plop into bed. But, good father was, he needed to make dinner for his hungry teenage daughter and maybe a few other house guests. Shaw and especially Beckett were always welcome. He could hold on for a few more hours.

Castle walked the remainder twelve feet to his apartment building, trying to force his mind to relax. The past twenty-four hours were hell, and had forcedly dug up the skills and secrets he had tried to hide.

Suddenly, his senses went on alert. He couldn't pinpoint it, just a feeling of unease, a worry in the dark jungle. His eyes flicked left. Woman with a stroller, man with a pizza, kid with an iPod. Right, man on a cell phone, man in a leather jacket, woman leading a little girl. In front, doorman patently holding th door.

Castle continued walking, both arms holding his paper grocery bags. His heartbeat seemed to slow, the calm before the storm, saving the energy for the adrenaline rush. Like in the Blackhawk in Bosnia. The absolute calm before jumping out of the bay. His sense of smell and hearing sharpened to the point where he could eavesdrop on a phone conversation, smell what a man had for dinner...

the leather jacket man's hand whipped to his side. Castle watched helplessly as, in almost painfully slow motion, he drew a gun...

The man's chest exploded. A loud, echoing _boom _filled the streets. People ducked and ran for a presumed safety, but having no idea where, or what, had happened. Castle rushed into the building, his mind already calculating where the sniper must have hidden.

For sniper it must have been.

* * *

Chief Master Sergeant James "Lefty" Taylor layed low on his rooftop, his breathing slow and calm. He thought, _Little Ricky still has his reflexes. At least some of them, anyway._

He pushed the speed dial on his phone, "Sty, we got a problem."

**The end**

**If you want a sequel, Review. Otherwise, no sequel.**


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